


All the many shades of Gerry Delano

by acrisisofbeholding



Series: All the Shades [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Adventures in Hair Dying, Alternate Universe, Artist Gerry, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Boys in Skirts, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Canon-Typical The Stranger Content (The Magnus Archives), Demisexual Gerard Keay, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Librarian Jon, Library AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Multi, Past Character Death, Polyamory, Romantic Fluff, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrisisofbeholding/pseuds/acrisisofbeholding
Summary: When Gerry caught sight of one Jonathan Sims for the first time in almost a decade, his hair was dyed black and grown out almost half, dark blonde roots standing out starkly.There was also paint staining his hands and he was standing in the Young Adult section of the library, but that was besides the point.In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.He happens to love them back.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: All the Shades [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175105
Comments: 70
Kudos: 111





	1. Black

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I just love these boys too much to keep it inside.  
> Enjoy my chaotic self-insert character and TMA hyper-fixation.  
> Special thanks to GhostChoir for being both my beta and my hype woman. 
> 
> CWs to be included at the beginning of each chapter.  
> For this installment:  
> None!

When Gerry catches sight of one Jonathan Sims for the first time in almost a decade, his hair is dyed black and grown out almost half, dark blonde roots standing out starkly against the long length of it.  
There is also paint staining his hands and he’s standing in the Young Adult section of the library, but it’s the hair situation that almost holds him back from going over to talk to Jon.  
Never one to be locked in image anxiety, he slaps on his best Devil-may-care smile and wanders over to flirt.  
"Why, Jon Sims, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Jon looked so startled for a moment, that Gerry starts to worry that he won’t recognize him. Bit of a blow to his regard of early romantic exploits. Then Jon's eyes light with familiar warmth. "Gerard Keay! How are you? It's been years."  
Gerry's stomach sinks and he feels a ghost stir in the back of his mind. "It's Gerry Delano now, actually!" He cocks his smile just right to brush it away, and Jon rounds the table between them to bring Gerry into a hug full of odd teen familiarity.

They sit at a library table and talk for almost an hour. Gerry blushes and stutters when Jon asks him if his name change was due to an ill-advised marriage and Gerry teases Jon about still looking like a student at 29, sitting in the library surrounded by stacks of books and two laptops.  
"I work here," Jon reassures him, chuckling. "What's your excuse for wandering around the teenage girl zone?"  
"Well excuse me, your eminence, I didn't realize that there was an age restriction on a chosen one defeating unreasonable odds while looking spectacular and undertaking a slow burn romance!"  
Jon looks stunned for a moment before he shakes his head and grins, "I wouldn't even be surprised to hear you enjoy teen fantasy romance. You always could find fun in the weirdest places."  
"Well, I pulled a lot of fun out of you, as I recall." Gerry offers back. "In fact, I'd like to repeat the experience. Let's grab a drink sometime."  
Which is how, when Gerry strolls out of the library 15 minutes later, he has a grin on his face, a new number on his phone, and a plan in his head... But none of the books he had gone in for.


	2. Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my incomparable beta GhostChoir!
> 
> CWs:  
> None!

Gerry doesn't even regret showing up to a first date with dye-stained hands. After all, stained by hair dye, stained by paint. Much of a muchness.  
He sincerely hopes between his height and new shock of bright green hair, Jon will be able to spot him through the modest Wednesday crowd.   
(Jon had pleaded that they were too old to brave the London weekend crowd that starts on Thursdays, Gerry had simply grinned and said he knew a great place to go).  
And he certainly can. By the time Gerry spots Jon sitting in a corner booth, Jon is already watching him intently. Jon doesn’t yet have a drink, so Gerry throws him a grin and tilts his head towards the bar.   
"I pegged you for more of a whiskey, neat man," Jon tells Gerry when he arrives at the table, frowning dubiously at his selection of a strawberry daiquiri, two shots of vodka, and a jug of margaritas.   
Gerry takes the opportunity afforded by his distraction and picks up Jon's hand to press a kiss to the center of his palm. "I'm a man of diverse tastes Mr. Sims. You should never try to predict what I might be tempted to put into my mouth."  
Between the kiss and the ribbing, Jon is broken out of his consternation, and he stands to greet Gerry with a familiar hug. "Maybe so, Mr. Delano, but just how drunk are you planning to get on a work night?"   
"That is still to be determined, but considering my workday normally starts at about 3 A.M., this is just breakfast." 

By the time all the drinks are gone, Jon having happily participated in all of them, despite his initial grousing ("But why did they have to be pink, Gerard?"), they're both warm, and open, and things are easy with them in a way even Gerry couldn't have predicted.   
After all, two closeted teen boys from strict homes don't really make for the smoothest of teen relationships. Nevermind the pair of them trying to navigate barely understood sexualities. Asexual was the word Gerry had offered Jon, laying together in Jon's cramped teen bed. Biromantic was one he had arrived at all on his own in the years since. Gerry simply uses the word queer now, and people rarely bother him about it.   
"Quite a lot of people recognize you here." Jon finally notices as the fourth person in an hour greets Gerry in the easy way of affectionate drunks.   
"Never fear, old chap," Gerry intones, briefly stealing Jon's Oxbridge accent, "I'm not a raging alcoholic artist, only a bartender."  
"You work here?"   
"Yup," Gerry confirms, cheerfully popping the 'p'. "Thursday through Sunday graveyard shifts."  
"And you felt an all-encompassing desire to attend on your day off?" Jon asks, one eyebrow quirked.   
Gerry shrugs, smiling and leaning over the table meaningfully, "Starving artist, employee discount, close to both our flats. Seems perfectly logical to me. Besides, a man should be able to rely on the quality of first date alcohol."   
"It's hardly a first date, Gerry! We've seen one another naked." Jon sounds rather scandalised, as if he suspects Gerry has forgotten. Which he certainly has not.   
"I rather think the quality of our nudity has improved enough over the years that it merits rediscovery." Gerry shoots back, and Jon blushes hard enough to melt the remains of their ice.   
"Well, regardless. How's the food? You should probably eat something solid if this is actually your breakfast." Gerry has to chuckle that it's taken so much alcohol for Jon's natural mothering instincts to finally emerge. Regardless, he flags down a waitress and she gets Jon a menu.   
Hiding partially behind it, Jon frowns. "I do think I should mention that I've been seeing someone for a few weeks now. We're not exclusive at this point, though."   
Gerry, somewhat delighted by this new development, having imagined that Jon was something of a spinster, chuckles and asks, "Oh yeah, do tell?"   
He's donned his most winning smile and gently nudges the menu so he can see Jon's face better.   
"You want to hear about the other man I'm dating on our first date in almost a decade?"   
"Obviously," Gerry scoffs, adopting a long-suffering attitude. "I might decide I prefer him."   
"Of course you might." There's a bit of lovely bite in his voice, and Gerry begins to truly enjoy himself.   
"He used to work with Sasha and me at the library." Gerry hums in acknowledgment. "He was one of the assistants when I was promoted to Head Librarian. We didn't get along very well in the beginning."   
Jon's stormy expression tips Gerry off to the fact that this is a gross oversimplification.   
"With you, that could mean anything from a small tiff over the proper use of the Dewy Decimal system to attempted murder."   
"Hrmph. If you must know, it means that I treated him very poorly for several months because of my own glaring insecurities." Jon's words are guilty, and he stares intently at an empty glass while he speaks, as if Gerry is less likely to judge him if eye contact is avoided. "Eventually I realized what a twat I had been and apologized, but it wasn't too much later that he quit."   
"Because of you?" Gerry huffs, although he does know Jon can have a razor-sharp tongue, and it doesn't take all that much to inspire it.   
"Oh! No, he says not. He had put together a great business plan and even managed to get a partial investment, on top of a loan. He's opened a bookstore with a little tearoom inside of it. Even took one of the other assistants with him." Past the painful part of his small tale, Jon's expression has lightened and he seemed quite delighted by the end. "When I went in to offer some support, Martin was actually happy to see me. He asked me out for dinner practically before I could finish taking my coat off."   
Gerry was hardly ever possessive, and generously tactile with almost everyone, and seeing the open affection in Jon's typically closed-off expression warms his gothic little heart. He decides he can appreciate anyone who takes the time and (sometimes monumental) effort it requires to make Jonathan Sims happy, instantly opening a special place in his heart for one Martin Blackwood. 

They end the evening with gloriously good fried food and laughing themselves giddy over tales from their teen years. Including the time Jon's Gran caught them smoking weed on the roof (Gerry shirtless, obviously) and had almost taken one of Jon's eyes out with the book she threw at his head.  
By the time Jon realizes that he hasn't been allowed to pay for a single thing, he's been bundled into a cab and is on the way home. He knows he should feel indignant at being so smartly handled, but all he can muster is the warm, satisfied sleepiness of someone shown a very good time, and halfway to being back in love already.


	3. Yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to GhostChoir, easily the best beta a girl could wish for. 
> 
> CWs:  
> Brief mention of childhood trauma.

In the following weeks, as he sees Jon a few more times, Gerry's hair fades out and he looks rather more 'forest nymph' than 'American Gothic'.   
So it's not much of a shock when the next time Jon catches sight of Gerry striding through the library stacks, his hair has been re-coloured. This time it's a smooth buttery yellow and Jon is struck by how young the warm, bright colour makes him look.  
Gerry doesn't feel young though, he feels tired and bored and wrung out, and he wishes he had never agreed to take art commissions.  
"It's only the one time!" Gertrude had insisted to a very put upon Gerry, very early in the morning. "And if he puts in a good word for you in his circles, your name will really be on the map in the art world."  
Gerry wasn't particularly interested in being put on any maps, or being picked apart by rich, stuck up strangers, but he had agreed to try, mostly because Gertrude had put a lot of effort into making his passion for art an actual career and he felt like he owed her.   
(He forgets, frequently, just how much of a commission she takes on the sales of his paintings).   
So there he was, striding around the library at 7 am and desperately looking for exactly the right reference book. Unfortunately, it has been out of print for years, and Gerry can't seem to find a copy anywhere that won't cost him half a liver. He has the money now, but he refuses to pay half a month's rent to a second-hand retailer on principle.   
Jon watches him skulk around for so long, (apparently forgetting that he is, in fact, a librarian) that Sasha comes out from her desk to ask Gerry if he's looking for something specific. She's wearing her big round glasses today and even indulged herself in her favorite waistcoat to beat the Monday blues.   
"Why, yes." At this, Gerry looks directly up at Jon, where he is standing and watching him from the upper balcony level. Jon's face burns, and he ducks out of sight, but not earshot. "I do actually come here to borrow books, not boys." And he smartly feeds her the name of the reference book he has been hunting for almost an hour.   
Sasha giggles at his antics, "We do have a copy of that, actually, but it's very popular. There's a waitlist; also it's checked out right now."   
Gerry's whole demeanor sags and he sighs in defeat. "Guess I really will just have to order it off the internet, then." He eyes the stacks of books, old and new, looking vaguely betrayed.  
"No!" Sasha's exclamation takes everyone a bit aback, being that they are in a library and all. "You know, my mate has this sweet little bookstore, and he loves hunting down rare copies of older books, he might have a copy?" She wrings her hands, eyebrows raised in question.  
Gerry beams down at her, causing even stoic Sasha to blush and scurry off to get a piece of paper for the address.   
They're already most of the way to the front desk by the time Jon realizes just which bookstore Sasha is busy recommending to the man he is dating, and just who owns that particular establishment.   
By the time he manages to get downstairs to try to deflect the situation, Gerry is out the door, nothing left but the faint scent of oil paints and leather from his jacket. 

Tim Stoker leaves Gerry feeling faintly dazed. By the time he stumbles out of the bookstore and into the tea room, elusive book in hand, he's forgotten everything he has ever known in the face of such intense flirting. And Gerry thought he was bad.   
Throughout the whole episode at the library, the walk through Chelsea, and the exchange with Tim, Gerry had never once taken a moment to consider that Sasha's friend with a bookstore and Jon's Martin with a bookstore might be the same person.   
He chooses to blame the lack of sleep and general disarray that is his life for the oversight.   
Which is how, 9:30 in the morning, having been awake for almost 24 hours and completely finished, Gerry walks up to Martin in his tea room and says, "I'll have whatever is pink and in that jug, please. The biggest you've got."  
Martin, of course, recognized him immediately. He would have recognized Jon's gothic childhood boyfriend from his social media stalking alone, but Jon's frantic texting was also a pretty big giveaway.   
Martin: Relax, I don't bite clients this early in the morning. He's in safe hands with me.   
Jon: HE KNOWS THINGS ABOUT ME. Besides, who's gonna stop him from biting you?   
Martin: Whatever he has to tell me can’t possibly be worse than the office gossip I heard about you before we even meet.   
Jon: W H A T   
Now, here Gerry is before him, and he’s quite pleased with what he sees. Even tired and vaguely dazed, his presence in the little room carries a certain energy that Martin enjoys.   
"Right away. Take a seat and I'll call you with it." Martin's voice is sweet, but gentle and firm, in a comforting sort of way. Through Gerry's sleepy haze, the instruction makes perfect sense, although he has neither paid nor offered a call name.   
Gerry considers taking a seat on the plush bench that occupies one wall, before deciding that he desperately needs a cigarette, and wandering outside.   
Technically he is only supposed to smoke at night when he's painting and needs just the right kind of boost, but he decides to call this one since he's on a painting-based errand when he's supposed to be sleeping.   
"Gerry?" He turns toward the sound of his name, to find the barista offering him a large to-go cup of what he assumes is fruit ice tea. He frowns at having his name known (his new, much-preferred name, no less) and then frowns at a blonde, bespectacled man in a tea room attached to a bookstore.   
His brain finally takes a moment to function, and he puts all the pieces together in an avalanche.   
"Martin?" Far from his usual self-confident tone, the single word comes out in a squeak that would make even a toddler wince.   
"Yes?" Martin returns the single word in the same solidly reassuring way, and even offers a happy smile.   
"I didn't... I didn't recognize you."  
"Would be pretty hard for you, considering this is the first we've ever met." Martin's voice is calming in a way that eases Gerry a bit, teasing and all.   
"Thank you. For the tea, I mean." Gerry closes his eyes and desperately begs his shit to pull together for him, just this one time. "It's nice to finally meet you."   
His hands are fully occupied with a book, a cup of tea, and a cigarette, but Martin doesn't seem particularly bothered by the lack of a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you too. We're giving Jon a heart attack by doing it without him."  
"That is the lawful good," Gerry says, after a long drag of his smoke. "A panicked Jon is a happy Jon, after all. Whatever would he do with himself without a situation to unnecessarily complicate?"  
"Yes, the man does seem to thrive on anxiety, doesn't he?" Martin asks warmly, eyes crinkling around a fond smile. "Speaking of, you seem pretty wrecked yourself. Good party, I hope."  
Gerry's answering laugh has a razor edge, "Not hardly. This fucking painting I'm working on will be the death of me." Gerry lifts the reference book as proof of trauma and stabs out his cigarette viciously.   
"Hmm, sounds like a pain. I hope you typically find art a more enjoyable career?" Martin asks, tilting his head inquisitively. His curly hair moves fetchingly and Gerry catches himself tracking the movement.   
"Mostly, yes. Although I keep the bartending gig for variety. You'd be amazed at the sort of inspiration someone can find in the right drunk crowd." Gerry grins, thinking of all the ridiculous things he’d seen walk in and out of the bar in his run there.   
"I'd be very interested to see what kind of art you can turn that into. Maybe you'd like to show me sometime?" Martin's words are open and friendly.   
Gerry eyes him for a minute, hiding behind a long taste of his drink. He's trying to suss out Martin's motivations, for his kindness and general geniality. The drink is good and it tips Gerry's mood far enough back into cheerfulness that he shrugs off his considerations for the time being.   
"You know what," Gerry quips back. "I think I would like to show you sometime. How 'bout tonight."   
It's not a question really, with Gerry's typical force of personality behind it, and he leaves the shop with Martin holding an address in his hand and a time to drag Jon over for dinner that evening. 

Gerry does not make a big deal of Martin coming over. He acts as if any other friend is coming over for dinner.   
He tidies, a little. Lights a few candles. Wears pants. The bare minimum really.   
He isn't trying to impress anyone, he tells himself sternly.   
Except he is, obviously. He doesn't know Martin very well yet, but he does want to keep Jon around, and they are a packaged deal these days. Which he was happy with, truly.   
In their limited interaction, Martin had been sweet and put Gerry instantly at ease. He knows, from many years of working a bar, how to spot a dipshit, and feels confident in his assessment of Martin's character.   
But, it's his own character that concerns him. People don't always like Gerry past surface interactions. He can be tempestuous and moody, and catching him tired is a pretty bad idea. The combination of artist and mommy issues can be jarring.   
He desperately wants those things to not bother Martin though. He wants Martin to like him, and he's not interested in putting on a show to make it happen.   
It occurs to Gerry an hour before they're due that he doesn't even remotely know what takeout to order for dinner.   
(He knows what Jon will eat, and he obviously knows what he likes, but what about Martin? Why didn't he ask this morning? Why didn't he ask Jon earlier?)   
Gerry is just starting to really panic about all the life choices leading up to this moment, when he gets a text from an unknown number, instantly filling him with relief.   
Martin: Since you're hosting this time, I'll grab the take-out. Jon says you like Thai, I'll bring that. You got the drinks covered?   
Gerry: As long as you drink either coffee, vodka, or water, yes.  
Martin: I'm sorry, I subsist only on the blood of virgins.   
Gerry: Oh dear. I couldn't tempt you to settle for Earl Grey?   
Martin: Hmmm, yes, I'll accept your offerings this time. 

The first knock comes right on time. Gerry, dressed in his best paint-stained jeans and cherry blossom kimono, opens the door with a flourish.   
Martin allows himself to be welcomed in and hands the food off to the dramatic artist, who deposits it on the table where he has already set the tea tray.   
"No Jon? Not that I mind quality ‘us’ time, of course."   
Martin is busy taking in the rambling studio space and barely spares the attention to respond, although he manages a blush at the flirty tone. "He's, uh, running late. Work stuff. You know Jon."  
Gerry smirks at that. "I do indeed. Is it a 'stumble in at 3am' late, or 'we could probably wait to eat' late?"   
"Hmmm? Oh, let's wait a bit? If you don't mind." Martin seems equally taken with his painting wall and his book wall and keeps trading his attention between the two. The paintings, being the larger attraction, eventually win, and he meanders over to study them closer.   
"Do you keep all the completed paintings around?" His voice is soft and reverent, and Gerry feels a rush of pride for his work.   
"For a while. I like to make sure they're in their final forms before I release them into the wild." Martin blinks big brown eyes at him, before grinning and giggling slightly.  
"You're very talented. Jon said as much, showed me the pictures, but words and photos are nothing compared to seeing the real thing." Martin really regards his paintings as if they're special, and rather than the prickly feeling of appraisal he feels during gallery nights, it fills Gerry with warmth.  
He turns to examine the wall himself. It's filled with an eclectic group at the moment. Large abstracts made by pouring paint and then layering designs over, three-dimensional pieces painted and then embroidered or quilled over in select places, including a particularly wild eye design. Surreal faces and scenes that seem realistic except for the wild subject matter of planets in meadows and chimeras going to battle.  
"Is this what comes from your adventures in bartending?" Martin asks Gerry, turning from the wall and towards the slightly taller man.   
"That, and my traumatic childhood." Gerry makes sure to laugh at the last, taking the edge off the small confession.   
"Obviously." Martin offers.   
"Obviously." Gerry accepts. 

Gerry and Martin drink tea on the floor while they wait for Jon. Gerry gently prods Martin through the story of how he came to open the bookstore. The blonde man even softly confessing that he had to lie on his CV to get the librarian gig at Magnus.  
"How old are you? How did you convince them you had a Master's degree?" Gerry is incredulous. Not that he doesn't think Martin could have an advanced degree. But in paranormal research? Gerry hadn't even known that was an option.  
"That's the thing! I'm only 29 now. I worked there for five years!" Martin's voice pitches up in disbelief. "I'm still in shock that anyone ever brought it. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"  
"I do, actually." Gerry shifts slightly, adjusting his balance with the long remembered urge to flee from those desperate times. He fiddles with his teacup to distract himself. He brought this particular set from a pawn shop because the filigree and florals appealed to his love of colour theory. Soft pinks and corals warm against the cool aqua background.   
"Jon says you wanted to go to art school when you two were younger."   
It's not a question, but merely Martin offering the same space for openness that Gerry had given him.  
"I never went. After my A-levels, I had to get away, and I never really stopped moving for long enough to go to uni when I was younger. Now I'm settled and it's not important to me anymore. Besides, no one asks for a copy of my phantom degree when I sell a painting. So I'm happy with how things turned out for the most part." He stops to consider the outline of a possible past for a moment, one where he didn't have to skip college and go ten years without seeing Jon. "Besides, can you imagine a 27-year-old in art school? The young ones would sacrifice me for more creative talent."  
Their eyes meet for a moment, and then they laugh easily and move on to different topics, sliding through the easy stages of getting to know each other.

Jon does eventually arrive, looking panicked and harried. He de-ages 10 years when he finds them laughing and relaxed instead of tense and awkward.   
So, the three of them eat cold Thai take out on the floor of Gerry's loft, leaning against the perfectly good couch. They share the odd intimacy of people who have known each other for very disjointed amounts of time but like each other just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Gerry has thirteen personalities.  
> I don't make the rules. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Orange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured here: Gifts, ducks and ice cream.  
> Credit where credit is due: GhostChoir is both an incredible beta, and has very helpful opinions about the way our boys eat ice cream. 
> 
> CW's:  
> Brief mention of relationship insecurity.  
> That's it!

Gerry leans out his window one early, early morning as summer dies in a crushing heatwave. Even at 4 A.M. the humidity presses against him, and his cigarette does nothing to soothe it.   
He smiles as a bird begins its first song somewhere nearby and moves back inside.   
He glares at the half-completed commission painting on his main easel, petulantly flipping it off as he walks past to get to the painting he's actually been working on.   
The painting shows Frankenstein's monster in a white dress and a flower crown, walking through a library, barefoot and beaming. It's a small one, nothing like the monster in the other corner, but he thinks Martin will like it and plans to give it to him to hang in the bookstore.   
Martin had cooed over the sketch, and suggested that they should name the painting so people finally had something to call it other than 'Frankenstein' or 'Monster.'  
"Everyone deserves to have their own name, Gerry," Martin had told him firmly, "Even if they have to pick it themselves."   
Both intimately familiar with the concept, they had exchanged a significant look over those words.   
"Not spiders," Jon stated firmly from nearby.   
"Yes, spiders." Martin had whispered into Gerry's ear, and they had dissolved into secretive laughter.   
Gerry had painted a small spider and cobweb into the corner of the final piece, hoping Jon would notice and shudder every time he noticed the little guy. If Martin saw it and thought of their sweet camaraderie, then that was all the better.   
He signs his artist's mark into one corner and considers it a job well done. 

Martin's eyes fill with tears when Gerry takes it over to the store to give it to him later that week, when it has dried and he can wrap it in soft tissue paper to deliver it.  
The weather is still oppressive outside, and Gerry orders something icy while Martin looks it over.  
"You shouldn't have." He tells Gerry weepily, dragging his eyes away from it.   
"Why not?" Gerry shoots back, leaning over and tucking a piece of wavy blonde hair behind Martin's ear, tactile as ever. "It makes you happy, and art is meant for enjoying, not sitting in sketchbooks."   
Martin comes around the counter and pulls Gerry into his arms. He hugs him back, absorbing the sweetness in the embrace.   
"Thank you, Gerry."   
"You're very welcome, Martin."

Gerry texts them all at 3 in the morning to invite them to the park the next afternoon. Martin replies immediately that he would love to, Jon replies the next morning grousing about being texted in the middle of the night. Gerry and Martin both understand that it's because he had probably only just gone to sleep when it arrived, but they say nothing.   
When they arrive, Martin goes immediately over to coo and feed bread to the local ducks, while Jon and Gerry settle nearby.   
Martin glances over at one point to find them looking at him with identical looks of adoration on their faces and feels all the blood rush into his face.   
Gerry is leaning against a big tree that they chose to set up under, trying to escape the afternoon sunshine. Jon is laying with his head on Gerry’s lap, uncharacteristically relaxed and amicable as he smokes an indulgent cigarette. Nearby, Gerry’s sketchbook is laying open, but his pencil lies abandoned as he plays with Jon’s hair instead.   
Martin wasn't sure what he thought was going to happen when Jon told him about Gerry. Honestly, he had supposed that Jon would simply prefer to be with his previous lover and that would be that. And yet somehow Martin found himself courted by both of them, and it fills him with pleased warmth every time he allows himself to think about it. Being wanted and pursued was a feeling that Martin had never let himself bask in, preferring to ignore the idea that he was desired in any way, rather than risk the crushing rejection that he so feared if he wasn’t.   
He had let himself go after Jon anyway, so hopelessly enamored with him that Martin had been willing to risk any dismissal, even the razor-sharp one he was convinced would be the only result of his rushed date offer.   
Jon’s enthusiastic acceptance was the biggest shock of his life, and each small way he showed Martin that he cared for him was like opening the curtains in a dark room; bright, unexpected and so beautiful it hurt just a bit.  
Martin wanted to default to the assumption that Gerry was only playing along to benefit his relationship with Jon, but with Gerry, it's hard to deny that he is actually interested, his attention so focused and his flirtation so palpable.   
Now they're on a date in the park, and things are so easy and affectionate between them, and Martin can't help but let himself feel a fond hope in that place that he hasn't ever allowed himself to feel before. 

It turns out Gerry's idea of a picnic is just junk food and pink lemonade from Martin's bookstore, but he gets no complaints as they lie together in the dying light of afternoon and toss candy and chocolate between them.   
Jon migrates from his lap to lie between Martin's legs eventually and Gerry takes the opportunity to sketch them together. The light shifts in Martin's blonde hair, gilding it golden, and Jon's smile shines out of his mossy green eyes as he tips his head back to look up into Martin's face.   
Gerry hopes he has the adequate talent to capture the magic that moves between them, that he feels moving between all of them.   
When the sketch is finished, Jon demands it, obviously enamored.   
"Ask nicely," Gerry replies tartly, holding the sketchbook to his chest protectively.   
Jon narrows his eyes at the sass and rolls up to his knees to shuffle towards him. His eyes are narrowed rather intimidatingly, but Gerry knows it's more of a face of consideration than an actual threat.   
"Gerry." Jon takes his head into his long-fingered hands and tilts his face upwards. "Please." He presses a kiss to Gerry's mouth and punctuates each successive word with another. "Can. I. Have. That. Sketch."  
Trying to appear unmoved by the display, Gerry responds with a dispassionate, "Why should I?"   
"Because," he leans down to whisper, "My heart shall break without it."  
"Well, I suppose we can't have that," Gerry tells him dryly, handing it over.   
"Thank you," Jon says, offering him another kiss as payment. Gerry leans into this one, sliding his hand up into Jon's hair and pulling them closer together.   
When they separate and Jon flops down next to Martin again, his attention has been captured by something across the park.   
“Martin?” Gerry nudges him with a foot.   
Martin’s attention snaps back towards him, a grin spreading across his face. “Can we get ice cream?”

They do go get ice cream. They pack up their things, and meander across the park with only a vague sense of urgency as the sun sets around them.   
In the ice cream parlour, they stand in a line before the freezer window and consider their options as a bored-looking clerk eyes them.   
"Really, Gerry?" Jon asks in disbelief as Gerry orders the black charcoal flavor.   
"Obviously. Have you met me?" He gestures at the length of himself. His hair is dyed a violent shade of blood orange, and his piercings glint in the light of the setting sun. He's wearing combat boots and black skinny jeans, and the tattoos on his hands and arms stand out starkly against his pale skin. His black tank top has a Metallica album cover on it, and he's wearing enough black eyeliner to put an over-dramatic teenager to shame. The ice cream will certainly fit with his aesthetic.   
"But what if it doesn't taste good?" Martin asks, sounding genuinely concerned.   
"And what happened to your obsession with drinking pink things?" Jon adds triumphantly.   
Gerry just shoots Jon an offended look. "You don't drink ice cream, Jonathan. Get a grip. Besides, it's lemonade flavored, it'll be just as good as if it were yellow."   
Martin giggles, although it's not clear if it's at Jon's flushed embarrassment or Gerry's firm opinion on the matter. “I’ll have the strawberry,” Martin tells the server, who then looks to Jon for his order. Sensing his distraction, Martin adds, “He’ll have mint chocolate chip.”   
Jon, chastised, doesn’t even argue.  
They sit outside on a bench, the air finally cool enough for them to brave sitting in the open for a few minutes, side by side, Jon in the middle. One hand occupied by his ice cream, he can hardly link hands with both of them, but Gerry takes his left hand, and Martin reaches across his lap to hold both their hands in one of his. It’s a bit tangled, but all of them are happy.   
Jon, always a speedy eater, practically inhales his cone and sits looking very satisfied indeed. Martin also appears content and at ease as he eats at a far more reasonable pace, savouring a rare indulgence.   
Gerry faces twists at the first taste of his own ice cream, but he says nothing, resolutely working his way through it.   
“No good, Ger?” Martin asks, looking over Jon's head at him.   
“It’s fine,” he mutters, although his expressiveness calls him a liar.   
“That bad, huh?” Jon crows, voice filled with triumph.   
“Bite me,” is Gerry’s only response, eyes rolling sullenly.   
“Can I try it?” Martin asks earnestly, reaching a hand out. Gerry hands it over, nose wrinkling. Martin secretly thinks the expression makes him look quite adorable, but would never mention that to Gerry. He tastes it and makes a face. “It’s weird. Too sweet, probably to overcompensate for the taste of charcoal. And not lemony enough.”   
Gerry grunts in agreement. Jon, overcome with curiosity, slips it away from Martin as he attempts to pass it back to Gerry.   
“That's just rude, Jon.” Martin pronounces, scandalised. He pinches Jon just above the knee for good measure, but he simply accepts it as his due and takes a big bite of the pilfered dessert.   
Jon sits up straight, eyes lighting up.   
“Really?” Gerry grouses, “After the shit you gave me for ordering it?”   
“Yes, actually. It’s good!” Jon’s voice is filled with rare animation, and Gerry waves him away as he tries to hand it back.   
“Someone should enjoy it. I wouldn’t want to deprive the ice cream of its purpose in life,” Gerry’s expression lightens. “Besides, I’ll probably get more satisfaction from watching you eat it than by eating it myself.”   
Jon blushes at the suggestive comment but doesn’t let it deter him, finishing the ice cream almost as fast as he did the first one, sitting between his two favourite people in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Interlude: First Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just what is says on the tin, kids! Kisses, kisses galore.  
> GhostChoir fills my heart with inspiration, and my documents with corrections. Thanks for being my beta, girl! 
> 
> CW's:  
> Kissing someone without asking for their consent first. (Consent is implied.)  
> Depression.  
> Self-deprecation.

"A kiss is a secret told to the mouth instead of the ear." 

******* 

Gerry has always thought it was very appropriate that his first kiss (with Jon, and overall) happened in the forgotten stacks of a local library. The scents of books and ink had surrounded them, something he still associates with Jon and youthful adoration to this day.   
He was seventeen and desperately trying to pass his A-levels in the crumbling ruins of his fucked up life. Jon was nineteen and ready to have a breakdown and drop out of second-year uni. Their messes had conveniently lined up enough to give them space to fall in love. It was a messy, chaotic type of relationship, but that was who they were and it suited them just fine.   
They somehow ended up as unlikely study partners after trying to check out the same book for their respective English classes, and then, almost without even noticing, they were inseparable.  
Gerry was drawn to Jon because he was steady but in a frenetic, rebellious kind of way. His eyebrow piercing and painted nails also helped.   
Jon was enamored with Gerry because he flirted and held his hand and accepted him for exactly what he was and nothing else mattered.  
One night, after admittedly too little sleep and too much caffeine, Jon decided he wanted to try something new. It was impulsive. He should have asked first, but instead, he moved without thinking, and somehow Gerry was pushed back against a bookshelf, their lips pressed together in a rather forceful way.   
Gerry laughed at him.  
"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for," Jon pouted, drawing away, but not so far that Gerry wasn't able to draw him back with his hands on Jon's hips. Jon's hands, previously bracketing Gerry's face, slipped up to tangle in Gerry's soft, badly dyed black hair.   
Fortunately for Gerry, Jon was exactly the right height for Gerry to draw him close and press a kiss to his temple. "You just surprised me, is all. I wasn't expecting you to do that. Like, maybe ever?" He laughed softly, again, an incredulous well of hot affection opening in his chest.   
"I was curious," he replied, shrugging. His face burned, with both embarrassment and sappy pleasure. "I thought maybe it would be nice."  
"Oooooh." Gerry grinned wickedly, "We'll have to keep trying, then. You know, for investigative purposes. We can't leave a hypothesis improperly explored."  
Jon silenced his nonsense by drawing their lips back together, and Gerry happily obliged him. At that moment, Gerry decided to make every kiss better than the one before, so Jon would always feel the need to come back for more.   
It turned out they enjoyed kissing one another very, very much. Gerry still appreciated everything Jon offered him and never pressured him for anything more, or extra, or too much. Jon was still steady but wild. Gerry always seemed to end up shirtless. Young infatuation was a beautiful thing, both to behold and to endure.

******* 

By the time Jon meets Martin, he's kissed a few more people.   
Georgie, for two dizzy years in grad school. Tim, on one memorable and drunken misadventure. A few others sprinkled here and there.   
But he couldn't remember ever feeling that same reckless drive to push himself into someone else's space and live in their gravity, the way it had been during those breathless months with Gerry.   
As soon as he lets his unfounded anger for Martin's mere presence in his orbit fade, Jon feels himself drawn to Martin's magnetism. His kindness, his gentleness, his constant awareness of Jon's mood and wellbeing.   
The way he brings him tea even though he would have insisted he didn't like it and didn't want it. Martin did it anyway because Jon could let it cool or drink it, but the gesture behind it stood all the same.   
Jon doesn't imagine that Martin could ever forgive his months of snide remarks and cold disregard, but he does, and Martin somehow manages to like him anyway. Because that's just who Martin is, always finding something to love in even the most desolate places.   
"Let me get you a taxi." Martin presses after a dinner date.   
"Let me get you a taxi." Jon presses back.   
"I live one block away!" Martin laughs and can't resist pulling Jon towards him by the elbows. Jon grabs his lapels with sloppy confidence born of laughter and wine.   
The air is full of gentle moisture, not quite raining, just blanketing the world enough that they feel locked away in their own world for the moment. Nevermind that they live in one of the most populous cities in the world. At that moment there is nothing but Jon and Martin and the warmth between them, forging an intoxicating attachment to rattle the stars.   
"I want to kiss you," Martin whispers the confession into the space between them, pressing their foreheads together and breathing Jon's air.   
"I really wish you would," Jon offers him in return.   
Their lips press together gently, deliberately. Martin is taller than Jon by enough that he gets the supreme satisfaction of dragging him slightly up towards him, crowding into his normally sacred personal space.   
For a moment, they feel airborne, standing in their huddle of space and time. Their lips move together, dragging and drugging them.   
Martin gasps softly as they pull apart to breathe, all their emotion pouring out into the space between them.   
"Come home with me," Martin pleads softly. "Just- for time together. I don't want this to end."   
"Yes," Jon whispers back, "I think I would like that very much."   
It is only one block away, and they walk hand in hand, pausing occasionally to press soft lips together again and again.

******* 

Gerry tries to keep a balance of spending time with both Martin and Jon and seeing them separately. He also makes sure to give them space to be together on their own, and never inserts himself between them.   
Even after several months, he feels like a guest in their relationship, and for the time being, he doesn't mind existing in that space. He finally knows he wants to keep them both, and he is willing to wait for the natural progression of their relationship to carry them along.   
He is still willing to do his part in it, of course.   
Gerry likes to go into the bookstore, get flirted with by Tim, flirt with Martin in return. Drink tea or coffee and read books on the comfortable couch in the corner, all the while watching Martin brew drinks and care for his customers.   
Martin works 5 or 6 days most weeks, often helping man the counter himself, between the admin of running the place and herding Tim and various baristas. So Gerry is quite taken aback when he goes in early one Monday afternoon to find Martin nowhere in sight.   
After a quick check with Jon to make sure it's not a normal absence, Gerry makes his way the short walk to Martin's flat.   
At first, there's no answer to his knock. He knocks again. He texts Martin's cell. He calls it too. A pit settles into his stomach, although he knows it's far too early to panic.   
He knocks one more time and even calls out for Martin through the door, before going quiet to listen.   
After a few nerve-wracking moments, Martin does actually open the door a crack, peering out at Gerry with red, tear-stained eyes.   
"Martin? Are you okay, love?" Gerry tries to push forward, but the door doesn't open any further. "I brought you tea. From the shop, even, so it's definitely good."  
"Why?" Martin asks in such a bleak voice that Gerry is taken aback.   
"I-" He starts, mouth gaping at Martin's completely alien manner. "I thought you might like it. That it would bring you some comfort if you were sick or something."  
"Or something," Martin says, the total blank sadness in his voice filling Gerry with biting concern.   
"Please let me in." He presses his hand more firmly into the door, and Martin eventually yields, although Gerry knows from unfortunate personal experience that it's more from lack of caring than anything.   
"Make yourself at home, I guess." Martin offers the space ahead of him as he moves further into his flat. He collapses on the couch, curling into a fetal position on the cushions.   
Gerry's heart burns, both with sympathy and empathy. He has an idea of what might be causing such a bad relapse of Martin's depression, although the topic of mothers is always carefully danced around between the three of them. He puts the tea down in grabbing distance and he goes to Martin's wardrobe to fetch his favorite fluffy blanket.   
"You don't have to tell me what's wrong. But I want to be here for you." Gerry tells him firmly as he wraps Martin up in it. "Is there anything specific I can do for you or do you want me to suggest some stuff?"   
Martin blinks up at him. "I don't know…"  
"I can put the TV on and sit nearby. I know I don't have Jon's voice, but I could read to you. Put on a podcast?" Gerry throws out the suggestions, keeping his tone gentle and neutral. He doesn't want Martin to sense that this is difficult for him in any way. He can process his own emotions later.  
"Anything." Martin shifts over onto his side as silent tears resume a steady trail down his face. Gerry walks over to the bookcase and selects a book he has seen Martin reading a dozen times, the spine well broken and the pages yellowing.   
He sits on the floor in front of Martin, near enough for him to hopefully be able to absorb some of the goth's errant body heat. He starts reading, keeping his cadence slow and steady, hoping to provide comfort and grounding.   
He reads for almost an hour, and he thinks Martin actually sleeps through most of it. He drinks the tea, although it's already cold.   
Eventually, he slows to a stop and closes the book, but doesn't move, hoping Martin will stay sleeping.   
"I'm sorry." Gerry is startled by Martin's croaky voice and turns to look at him.   
"You have nothing to apologize for."  
"I do," Martin starts, rubbing at his checks and sitting up against the armrest. "I'm a disaster and you had to come all this way and waste all this time just because I can't get my shit together."  
Gerry's eyes narrow at this nonsense, but his tone remains gentle. "None of the time I spend with you is ever wasted. I care about you and I want to be here for you. I wish you had called me or Jon so that we could have come sooner."   
Martin's face falls at the mention of their mutual boyfriend's name. "Of course. You came for Jon. It would have been pretty bad if he had seen this mess."  
"That is not what I said, and it's not what I meant." Gerry's voice rises, from hurt at Martin's words, at the way his mental state twists Gerry's heart in his chest. He pulls himself up onto his knees, putting himself firmly in Martin's personal space and leaning in close so Martin can't avoid his eyes or his words. "Martin, allow me to make myself completely clear. Because I won't allow you for one second longer to believe that you are some kind of consolation prize for me, that I tolerate your presence because I feel like you and Jon are a package deal. That anything I do to show you affection or effort is for Jon's benefit. You are a gift to me. The way I feel for you is completely independent of my feelings for Jon. I love us all together, but you. You fill me with hope and laughter and the warmth of a perfectly brewed cup of tea. I want you just as much as I want Jon, and my heart will never be the same if you were to walk away from me. Please don't push me away because you think I only feel this way about Jon. Because that is the furthest thing from my truth."  
His declaration sits heavy in the air between them for a moment, almost shimmering where Gerry can practically see it hanging in the air.   
"But, I-"   
"No, no buts. I'll accept 'thank you, Gerry, you light up my life too, Gerry.' No arguments. No buts. This is a space where we can accept that people love us."   
"Thank you, Gerry," Martin says slowly, pulling Gerry closer to hold the sides of their faces together. Gerry wraps his arms around Martin and rocks them gently. "You fill life with colour, my Gerry."   
"Much better, love. I'd really like to kiss you now, if you-" Gerry breaks off as Martin pulls him closer and slots their lips together. The kiss is full of desperate desire to bring Martin closer to Gerry and further from his forsaken loneliness.   
Gerry slides himself up off the floor, not breaking contact, and sits astride Martin's lap. Martin sneaks his hands up the back of his shirt, hands confident and familiar from months of tactile flirting and easy affection.   
Gerry anchors himself to Martin, and Martin anchors himself to Gerry, and at that moment they feel the nexus of their relationship, both with each other and with Jon, lock firmly into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Quote at the beginning by Ingrid Bergman.


	6. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found here: talk of poets and painting.  
> My incredibly talented beta, GhostChoir has started releasing a stunning Jon/Gerry/Martin fic called An Encyclopedia of Very Ordinary Things. Go give her some love! 
> 
> CW's:  
> Physical discomfort.  
> Jon working too hard.  
> Insecurity.

"Do you really hate Keats that much?" Martin asks Jon, sounding faintly betrayed. They're sitting on a pile of cushions in front of Gerry's big window, while the man himself stands painting nearby.   
There has been no previous mention of Keats since they arrived several hours ago, nor in the entire course of Gerry knowing them together.   
Granted, he had barely been awake when they had arrived, having rolled out of bed just seconds before the knock came, but Gerry thought he had been keeping fairly decent track of the overall conversation.  
He had thought Sunday brunch was a great idea when Jon suggested it during the week. Only remembering half-way through his shift the previous night that he was normally dead asleep during that time on a Sunday. But needs must, and after coffee and food, he was feeling downright perky at having two cute boys in his apartment.   
Jon and Martin had settled into the pillow pile to occupy themselves while Gerry wandered off to paint, and they had spent several hours each engaged in their own artistic endeavors, simply enjoying the energy of one another's company.   
Jon had started out reading but kept getting distracted by the way the light in the studio catches in Gerry's dark red hair, tied up in a chaotic messy bun, and had idly been strumming Gerry's old acoustic guitar for a while instead. Martin had been writing in a notebook, tongue often caught between his teeth in contemplation, glasses pushed up onto the top of his hair.   
Jon stops playing abruptly and Gerry winces at the discordant note the guitar lets out in protest.  
"I think Keats is pretty cool," offers Gerry cheerfully.  
"Thank you, Gerard, very helpful," grouses Jon in return, glaring at him. Gerry blows him a kiss and returns to his canvas.   
"I don't hate Keats, Martin." Jon's voice is slow and soft in the way that indicates that he's actually trying to be sensitive, "I just think he's overrated. After spending so much time in uni pouring over his boring symbolism, I'm just sick of him."  
Jon's English literature degree, which Gerry remembers with some humour does not qualify him for a job at a library, had been a pain to get, and he doesn't always remember that part of his life with any great fondness.  
"I know, but-" Martin cuts off abruptly and there's unexpected silence for a moment.  
"Gerry, do you have a cat?" Jon's voice is incredulous and somewhat delighted at the new development.  
"Yes," Gerry replies, very casually. He looks around to find that the cat has indeed wandered in and is sitting in a shaft of sunlight, black fur shining. "Jon, Martin, meet Saturn. Saturn, this is Jon and Martin."  
Saturn blinks at them, before abruptly standing, showing them his butt, and then walking over to twine between Gerry's legs. Gerry deposits his painting supplies nearby and reaches down to scoop Saturn up, before carrying him over to sit with the others.  
"He's not always great with new people, but hopefully he'll warm up to you. He can be a great cuddler when he wants to be." Saturn eyes them all speculatively before sitting on his own cushion and curling up in a fluffy ball.   
"So he's like the Jon cat?" Martin asks, sneaking out a finger to scratch Saturn's fluffy little ears. He purrs lightly and Gerry grins to see them getting along.   
"Well-" Jon splutters indignantly, face warming beneath his tan.   
They both laugh and Gerry leans towards Martin to whisper conspiratorially, "He's not even embarrassed about being bad with new people. He's shy that we know how good of a cuddler he is."   
Jon presses his lips together with a long-suffering expression, also reaching out a hand to pet the purring feline. Saturn rolls over towards him and gets a belly rub for his efforts.   
"There we go," Gerry mutters happily. "All my favorite boys, getting along so well."   
There's more sputtering from both Jon and Martin at that, but Gerry only laughs and leans over to kiss the tops of their heads. 

Jon sighs and rubs the back of his neck, trying to release the burning tension sitting in all the joints of his spine.   
It's 1 A.M. and the library is long, long closed, doors locked and lights turned out. He doesn't know how he gets here sometimes. Elias has certainly never overtly demanded he work overtime, and yet Jon always feels the need to push a little harder, do more than anyone would consider even remotely reasonable.   
He accepted a while ago, that his irrational drive for perfection in this job stems from his self-doubt and fear of inadequacy.   
And yet, that understanding does nothing to get him home at a reasonable hour, even when he remembers the two men who always seem to be around when he needs them.   
It's unfathomable to Jon how he managed to find himself in a relationship with not one but two incredibly understanding and supportive men who love him. He considers it a downright miracle that they also seemed to be finding their way towards loving one another. Although, who wouldn't love Martin and Gerry?   
He checks his watch again. Martin is definitely asleep, and even just stumbling in to lie in bed with him would disturb him. He knows the sweet man would say he doesn't mind, but he feels like if he can't get back at a reasonable hour, he doesn't deserve to sleep next to him at all.   
Gerry, on the other hand, is mostly nocturnal. A quick check of his phone shows that it's actually Friday, and he is working at the bar for another hour or so.   
While Jon has his phone in his hand, he opens up their text chain.   
Gerry: Don't work too late. Martin and I want you functional so that we can drag you out to that street market this weekend.   
Jon: I won't.   
Gerry: Yes, you will. But try to keep it pre-midnight ;)   
'He's awake,' Jon tells himself firmly. 'He'll be happy to see you, even if you did work even later than he predicted.'   
So Jon packs up his stuff and leaves the library. He considers a cab, but it's only a few blocks and he thinks the fresh air and exercise will unlock the tension in his poor abused spine.   
He arrives at the bar just before closing. Gerry is busy charming a few drunk regulars out the door with promises of undying love and that the bar will be back tomorrow afternoon. After they stumble off, he turns to find Jon walking slowly towards him. Gerry is wearing combat boots, dark jeans, and a loose leather tank top, over a lace undershirt. He has his favorite hoop in his nose, and the light glints off the many piercings in his ears.   
"Why, Gerry Delano, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Gerry grins at Jon's teasing tone and echoed words, no sign of recrimination about him.   
"I always am." Jon reaches Gerry at that, and they draw together, pressing tired lips against each other gently.   
Gerry's hair has faded out a bit from the moody red, and Jon slips his hands into his hair to hold him close for a moment longer. They rock together on the street for a long, frozen moment.   
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gerry asks, pulling away and sliding his hands down Jon's arms to connect their fingers.   
"I missed you," Jon confesses shakily, emotion spilling out of his voice.   
"Good, I missed you too." Gerry drags him into the bar and fills the air with stories from his shift while he and his colleagues clean for the evening, closing up the bar.   
They walk home arm in arm, Gerry flirting with him mercilessly. Jon sheds the day's tension as they go, and by the time they arrive at Gerry's loft, he's warm and relaxed.   
He supposes he should probably go back to his own flat, but it's not a place he spends the night very often anymore, and he fears the creeping insomnia that will take him without Martin and Gerry around to soothe him into sleep. Besides, Gerry is right here with him, and he seems so pleased to have him around.   
"Are you going to paint now?" Jon asks as they shed their work clothes. Jon is sorry to see the lace shirt go, but Gerry makes up for it by simply throwing a kimono over his bare chest. He throws him a T-shirt, so Jon wears that and his boxers as they settle on the couch. Gerry is still wearing his jeans, but both their feet are bare as they tangle on the coffee table.   
"I'm not sure, do you want to?" Gerry asks as he lights a cigarette and offers Jon one.   
"What? Do I want to paint?" Jon's voice is taken aback. He takes the cigarette and lights it.   
Gerry shrugs as if it's obvious. "Sure, you used to draw with me when we were younger."  
"Yes, but…"   
"But what, Jonathon? You're too old to paint now? Too proper and straight-laced to get charcoal under your nails? No more piercings, no more creativity?" Gerry sways into his shoulder, drawing smoke into his lungs and letting it out as he speaks.   
"No, it's not that." Jon grouses back. Gerry hums derisively in return. "I just don't see the point of wasting your drawing paper when you can do that." Jon gestures wildly towards Gerry's most recently completed painting.   
Gerry eyes it critically. It's the commission that he's been slogging over petulantly. It's large and impressively done, he can accept that, but he doesn't like it very much. He hates the subject and composition Peter Lukas has demanded and compensated by pouring all his best technique into it. It makes him sad and sullen to look at, and Gerry will be relieved when it's finally gone.   
"For every painting like that I've ever done, Jon," Gerry spills all his affection into the name, and Jon can feel it, "I've done a thousand ridiculous sketches and colour studies. Art is time, and diligence and joy as much as it ever is masterpieces. You don't sit down one day and magically just know how to be a maestro."   
Jon looks over and up at him with big green eyes. Gerry can't help but lean over and slide his hand into Jon's hair, pressing their lips together for a moment. "So Mr. Sims. Can I tempt you to make some art with me?"

What they create in those soft early morning hours can only generously be called art, even Gerry's efforts. But they laugh and kiss and somehow get covered in charcoal and acrylic paint. Gerry even allows Jon to choose the Spotify playlist. Slow piano music with nature sounds play softly in the background of their impromptu art party, reminding Gerry of nothing so much as Jon himself.   
The dawn is just breaking through Gerry's massive bank of windows when he allows Jon to drag him off to bed, and they collapse together in the soft morning light. 

Late the next morning, Martin lets himself into the flat and bounces down onto the bed between them, sending Saturn flying off in a huff.   
"So, I heard there was a slumber party. I brought breakfast."  
"Fuck off," Gerry slurs, but rather undermines his own point when he pulls Martin down and tucks himself around him. Jon does the same from the other side, and Martin finds himself in the middle of a very sleepy man sandwich.   
Gerry seems to instantly fall back asleep, but Jon eventually drags himself to consciousness, even buried in Martin's neck. "What's time?"   
"Almost ten," he responds, very cheerfully.   
"WHAT-" Jon flies out of bed in a blind panic, desperately looking for his phone, which is dead when he finds it anyway. "I'm already so fucking late!"   
Gerry groans.   
"Relax Jon." Martin tries to soothe him but is hindered by the fact that Gerry is still clinging to him in a very enjoyable way. "Gerry, love, let me go. Jon is having a meltdown."  
"How unusual," Gerry mutters very unsupportively, Jon manages to notice. He flops over onto his other side and attempts to bury himself in pillows instead of Martin.   
"Jon, breathe." Swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, Martin uses his best man-disaster steadying tone. Gerry has come to realize what that tone is, but he doesn't mention it to anyone. "It's Saturday."   
Jon slumps and drops the pants he was desperately trying to wrangle himself into.   
"It's Saturday?" He asks.   
"It's Saturday," Gerry confirms from the pillow fort.   
Jon glares at Martin in a very put upon way. Martin smiles at him brightly.   
He turns and wanders off to the bathroom in an effort to collect himself. Martin resumes his spot in the middle of the bed, and drags Gerry towards him, tucking himself into his back.   
"Hmmm. So much noise on a weekend." The goth mutters as he attempts to resettle himself in Martin's arms.   
"I'll make it up to you later," Martin promises, pressing a kiss behind his ear.   
"You let that happen on purpose, didn't you." It's not a question. "Just to see that look on his face."   
"Yes," Martin says, chuckling into Gerry's pillow.   
"Very good, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Also, my eternal gratitude to everyone who has read, commented and left kudos! The reaction to this fic has been truly heart-warming.


	7. Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, we dye hair, instead of just talking about it.  
> GhostChoir, my beta, is hilarious and a talent. Thank you for always knowing where the apostrophes belong! Love you, dude.
> 
> CW's:  
> Casual nudity. No sex, just boyfriends being naked with one another.

They are absolutely trashing Martin's bathroom, but he can't bring himself to mind. Not even if it costs him the security deposit on his ridiculous, tiny flat.   
Gerry is lounging in the empty bathtub, stripped to his briefs, laughing so hard that tears roll down his checks, tracking black eyeliner with them. Jon sits behind him on the edge of the tub and is desperately trying to keep track of which pieces of hair have been dyed while Gerry refuses to keep his head still. Martin is sitting on the floor next to them and holding the bowls of varying shades of purple dye.   
The dye itself is flying everywhere, between four hands attempting to apply it and Gerry's apparent inability to keep stationery and stop laughing for even one second.   
"Gerry! Keep still," Jon yells in his best teacher voice. His imperious tone is demanding, but the grin on his face undercuts it.   
"Can't," Gerry insists, pulling his head down (with dye-covered hands) to press their lips together. The kiss is sweet, but Jon doesn't appreciate all the new places it covers him in hair dye.   
"Gerry, it might all go more smoothly if you just let Jon and I do it for you," Martin advises him.   
Gerry pouts, "Letting the men in my life just do things without my participation wouldn't be a very 'strong independent woman' move on my part."  
"You're not a woman," Jon points out drolly, "Besides, what does that say about me, with the way you two are always arranging to pay for everything we do and everywhere we go?"  
"It says you have two incredibly attractive men who like to do nice things for you," Martin tells him firmly, as he always does when the topic arises. They all hear Jon's eyes roll.   
"Gerry," Martin starts in the voice he knows gets just the right response from him. "Stop being a brat and. Sit. Still."   
Gerry sits still. Martin kisses him to inspire continued good behavior, and Gerry's teal eyes practically glow in a way that fills Martin with supreme satisfaction.   
With their target stationary, Martin and Jon make quick work of Gerry's remaining hair.   
He is ordered to stay put in the bathtub while it sits, and Martin starts cleaning up the bathroom. Jon heads into the shower to avoid being dyed in a plethora of bizarre places.   
Martin goes to return the dye to Gerry's hair product box and pauses with his hand in it.   
Gerry, sensing Martin's distraction, jumps up to go over and stand behind him. Martin settles back into the warmth of his chest, and Gerry's arms snake around him.   
"You would look very fetching in that colour," he whispers enticingly in Martin's ear.   
"You think?" Martin murmurs back, eyebrows rising in consideration.   
"Yes," Gerry replies, leaning forward to bite his ear lightly. "Please."   
"Whatever might you two be consorting about over there," Jon demands cheerily, emerging from the shower wrapped in his towel.  
"Martin was just about to agree to become the next hair dying victim," Gerry informs him confidently, snaking an arm around Jon's shoulders and bringing him in close so he too can see the bottle sitting in Martin's hand.   
"Oh," Jon says in a reverent sort of voice. "Yes, I think that's a very good idea indeed."

Martin sits still much better than Gerry did, and Gerry does his hair himself, Jon having already rid himself of persistent stains and wandered off to make something for lunch.   
Gerry pushes Martin in front of a mirror (not Martin’s favourite pastime, but for Gerry, he suffers it) and they both look at him. The goth grins. “It’ll look better in the end obviously, but what do you think love?”  
“I like it, actually,” Martin whispers, like a confession.  
“Actually? I expect more self-confidence than that from my masterpieces, babe.” They laugh and sway together in front of the mirror.   
“I love it, thank you.” Martin turns in Gerry’s arms and they kiss slowly and thoroughly.   
Martin presses his hands along Gerry’s bare sides and up along his spine, where he knows a line of eyes is inked along each vertebra.   
Gerry keeps his hands on Martin’s chest, in an effort to keep their respective hair dye where it belongs, although his hands cling to Martin's shoulders and push and pull in response to their movements.   
“Really you two? I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you’re both half-naked and making out?” Jon interrupts them from the doorway, his words soft and appreciative.   
“We could be even more naked if you're interested in that?” Gerry offers, winking at him.   
“Could we?” Martin asks, apparently just wondering out loud.   
Gerry raises a suggestive eyebrow at him. “We definitely could be.” Gerry smirks, "You are familiar with how nudity works, yes?" He illustrates his point by pulling at the waistband of Martin's briefs and letting them snap back into his hip.   
"Yes, I am familiar," Martin growls into his mouth, biting his lip for good measure. "Care to join, Jon?"   
"Maybe when there's less hair dye on the table, so to speak. Gerry, your timer went off, you'd better jump into the shower and wash off."   
"Yes, sir." Gerry pecks Martin one last time, salutes Jon, and strips off to hop into the shower.   
Martin flushes at his casual nudity, and a heavy look passes between him and Jon.   
Taken with Martin's pink-laden head, Jon can't resist going over and pressing just one kiss to Martin's soft lips. 

Later, when the bathroom is clean and everyone has washed, dry hair, they all pile around Martin's sitting room, a documentary playing softly in the background. Martin's new soft pink hair looks even better dry and Jon had whispered to Gerry conspiratorially that it reminded him of Martin's sweet early morning blush.   
Martin is braiding Gerry's now wildly purple hair, and Gerry has convinced a reluctant Jon to let him paint his nails.   
"We really shouldn't." Jon protests, even as Gerry paints on the base coat. His own nails are painted black, of course. His artist's eye appreciates Jon's neat, smooth nails, and he considers what kind of tiny designs he might be able to sneak onto them at some point.   
"Why not? I used to paint your nails all the time when we were younger. That's where I got most of my early practice."   
"I'm not a teenager anymore, Gerard. I have a professional job!" Jon complains, but Gerry knows these are only nerves, not lack of desire.   
"Oooh, Gerard!" Martin coos, before tumbling into a laugh. "There's nothing in the dress code that says you can't have painted nails, Jon. And we all know you like having them done."   
"That's meant for women, and you know it, Martin." Jon protests.   
Gerry and Martin both stop their tasks abruptly to stare at him. "Jon, babe," Gerry can barely contain himself. "You are wearing a skirt. Martin has pink hair. I'm getting my absurdly long hair braided - into pigtails. I don't think any of us are exactly paragons of toxic masculine stereotypes."  
"Besides," Martin adds when he can speak calmly without tumbling into hysterical laughter, "there's no gender-specific dress code at the library. All it says is 'If nails are painted, they must be neat and unchipped.'"   
Jon looks askance at both of them, crossing his skirt-clad legs primly.   
"Come on," Gerry encourages gently, "It's just this one time. If you don't like it, we can take it off before you go to work on Monday morning. Or while you're at work on Monday. Or in an hour. Or anytime at all. It's just one small adventure."  
"I know it's been a while, love." Martin pitches in, "But, don't worry, Gerry will be gentle."   
Jon ends up with green nails, which he likes very much. Gerry is enamored with his braids and begs Martin to teach him to do it himself. Martin is simply delighted to have a house full of laughter and colour for the first time in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I can't explain how much each comment and kudos inspires me!


	8. Interlude: Pain, but the Good Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going on a boyfriend adventure!   
> Extra special shout out to my fantastic beta GhostChoir, who makes this writing thing the wildest ride. 
> 
> CW's:  
> Piercings, needles, tattoos.  
> Associated nerves.   
> Partial nudity (Gerry takes his shirt off, shocking)   
> Unnecessary rudeness  
> What might be considered some social anxiety on Jon's part.

“We shouldn’t go in,” Jon tells his giggling partners very firmly, but they pay him no mind, and he gets dragged by the hand into the storefront.   
The girl working the front desk looks up with a vaguely alarmed look on her face, probably because Gerry and Martin look drunk, despite it being 11 A.M. on a Sunday. They are not, although Jon can understand why someone would think that, as they march right up to the desk, faces flushed, still laughing boisterously.   
“Is Melanie in? She’s a good mate of mine.” Gerry tells the receptionist.   
“Yes, I’ll check with her if she has a second for you.” And she scuttles off to the back.   
“It’s Gerry!” He calls off behind her, before turning to grin at Jon. “Don’t hover in the doorway, babe, Melanie doesn’t bite.”  
“Melanie is in fact, perfectly capable of biting,” Jon mutters petulantly, as he moves further into the room to eye the art on the walls. “Especially when you used to date her girlfriend.”   
“Oh look, my favorite emo goth boy!” Melanie yells, exploding out the back of the store, all 5 feet of her filled with frenzied energy. Her face immediately sours when she catches sight of Jon, hiding behind Martin. “And my least favourite douche bag.”   
“Now, now firecracker, be nice to my boyfriend.” Gerry pulls her into a hug, which leads to a headlock and a swift jab to his ribs.   
“I’m very happy to be nice to Martin,” She responds sweetly, blowing him a kiss. “What brings you lot over to darken my doorstep?”  
“Piercings,” Gerry tells her with an unnatural amount of glee.   
“Jon agreed to let me pierce him?” Melanie asks, perking right up at the idea of causing Jon pain.   
“No!” Jon exclaims.  
At the same time, Gerry says, “Nah, he’s not interested, but Martin and I were wanting something each.”   
“Martin?” Melanie asks dubiously, eyeing up sweet-looking, pink-haired, cardigan-clad Martin.   
“Yes,” Martin confirms with false solemnity. “Boyfriends who bleed together stay together.”   
“You know,” Melanie remarks, grinning at them, “I have heard about that Pagan ritual.”   
Jon has slunk over to a wall of healed artwork and concept designs, managing to avoid Melanie's barbs. As far as he is concerned, the art isn’t as interesting as Gerry’s work. Although, he supposes that what you can make beautiful on a canvas is very different from what you can make beautiful on someone's skin.   
“I’ve got a bit of an opening now, what do you want to get?” She asks Gerry.   
“Well, you know I’ve been wanting to have my nipples done.” He offers, teal eyes looking slightly wild.   
“Yeah?” She grins in triumph, “I’ve been waiting for this day.”   
“Yup and Martin has been considering something for his ears.”   
“Hmmm,” She wanders over to Martin to examine him. “Open for suggestions?”   
“Maybe.”   
“They’re a good shape. Double helix?” She looks to Gerry for affirmation.  
“Definitely.” He smirks, eyes lighting up with satisfaction.   
"Two?" Martin looks slightly dubious.  
"If you do them together, the pain is only a tiny bit more, and the healing time is two-for-one," Melanie reassures him, and Jon thinks it's the nicest she's ever sounded. "It's up to you though, of course."  
Jon steals himself to brave the fray, going over to take Martin's hand. It's slightly clammy with the nerves that Gerry's enthusiasm has prevented up until this point.   
"It won't be so bad, love." He presses a kiss to Martin's cheek, offering his support. "Just a small jab, then it's done."   
"Let's do it." 

There's a brief fuss with consent forms, aftercare instructions, and payment.   
"I don't know what you lot," Melanie instructs Gerry firmly, gesturing between them, "get up to in the bedroom, but no twisting, no pulling, no biting, no sucking your nipples for 12 weeks."  
Jon blushes, but Gerry and Martin aren't bothered. "Yeah, firecracker, I know the drill. This isn't my first circus."  
"Kinky little shit," Jon mutters under his breath, but the goth only winks at him.   
Martin's care instructions are less suggestive, and Gerry and Jon both promise to help him with it.   
“Martin should go first,” Melanie pronounces, patting the piercing chair as she disinfects her hands and gloves up.   
“Me?” Martin asks.   
“Yup, yours will be a lot simpler, and I don’t want to traumatise you by making you watch nipple piercings before your turn.”   
Martin climbs on the chair, looking a little pale, but resolute. Jon stands on the side not occupied by Melanie, gripping his hand reassuringly. Gerry stands slightly behind the chair, hand on Martin's shoulder.   
The ear piercings are almost comically quick and easy. Two quick pinches, less painful than bee stings, and then Martin's ear is pierced and adorned with small hoops.   
He sighs with relief and oh's with delight when Gerry hands him a mirror to check them out.   
"I love it!" He exclaims, beaming at Jon and Gerry. They smile back at him, each taking a turn to kiss him on the cheek or forehead, their own relief palpable.   
"It's just you and me now," Melanie grins at Gerry and gestures for him to strip.   
He shucks off his trench coat and black t-shirt, and stands in front of her, completely at ease.   
Jon takes a moment to wonder if he has managed to get himself into a relationship with a masochist. Not because of the piercings, but because Gerry seems to genuinely enjoy being friends with Melanie.   
The nipple piercings seem to be a much more complicated process, with markings and adjustments, but several rounds of cleaning and disinfecting later, Melanie runs a metal piercing bar through first one nipple and then the other. Gerry hisses with discomfort but stands carefully steady.   
She steps back to make sure they look straight and even, before declaring it a success.   
"Nice," Gerry says succinctly, looking in the large upright mirror, nodding his head enthusiastically. He and Melanie high five, and she condescends to grip him in a firm hug from the side.   
"You sure I can't tempt you, Jon?" Melanie asks him sweetly as she starts to clean up her station, Gerry putting his clothes back on close by.   
Knowing she just wants to cause him pain, Jon tells her firmly, "No, thank you."  
He is over by the wall again, looking at different art this time, including a picture of a tattoo that catches his focus. It's a playing card amid a complex arm sleeve, an Ace of diamonds, and despite a lifelong disinterest in tattoos, it speaks to him.   
"I think you'd look better with a spade, love.” Gerry manages to startle Jon slightly, appearing beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jon marvels at his apparent ability to read his mind.   
“You think so?” Jon queries, softly. Gerry hums his affirmation. “It's a bit much though, don't you think?”  
"You don't need the whole card, for what you want. Just the A and the spade. Small and bold." He picks up Jon's hand, indicating the spot below his thumb on his wrist.   
Gently releasing it, Gerry grabs a pen and scrap of paper and rapidly draws out a solid, simple design.   
Jon glances over at Melanie, extremely dubious. "Maybe we can go somewhere else to get it?" He whispers.   
Gerry laughs warmly, tapping the small piece of paper. "I could do it for you myself."  
Jon blinks at him, rather owlishly. "What do you mean?"   
"I mean, I can give you the tattoo. I'm probably a bit rusty, but I did survive a full tattoo apprenticeship. I’ve done about a million over the years, although I had to give up my machine when I moved to London."   
"You did a tattoo apprenticeship?" Martin asks from nearby, tone skeptical.   
"Yup, when I was living in Edinburgh. All three years." Gerry tells them casually. "That's where I met Melanie, actually."   
Jon and Martin exchange a baffled look, but choose to simply file it under 'Things Gerry tells us out of order.'   
“Well, if you can do it...” Jon sounds a bit floaty but he is staring at the design yearningly, which Gerry knows is a good sign.   
"Firecracker," Gerry yells over to Melanie, "Can I borrow your machine?" 

Melanie makes the stencil while Gerry reacquaints himself with the tattoo gun, setting everything up and getting used to the weight of it in his hand again. The rhythm is always the same with tattooing and he feels himself fall into the past a bit.   
When everything is ready, he gestures Jon over to sit in the chair, smiling beatifically.   
Jon is shaking a little as he slides up onto it, and Gerry presses a reassuring kiss to his hand before he starts the prep.   
"You ready?"   
Jon gulps. "Yes."  
Martin comes over to take Jon's other hand and Melanie hovers nearby, wanting to watch Gerry like a hawk the entire time he's handling her machine. ("It's the true love of her life," Gerry had confessed to Martin earlier. "Don't tell Georgie.")   
Gerry follows the same procedure with any tattoo: cleanse, shave, cleanse again. Numbing cream, in this case, to prevent nerve twitches, then alcohol rub down. Eventually, he applies the stencil carefully, making sure to get it straight and in the correct place.   
He checks with Jon, making sure that it is where he wants it. Jon confirms, smiling to see the design on his skin for the very first time.   
As the buzz of the machine fills the space, Jon and Gerry make eye contact for a moment. Jon's earthy green eyes are wide, and Gerry can almost see where his pulse pounds through his jaguar vein. He stills a moment, really checking Jon's energy.   
He's nervous, it's obvious to see, but Gerry can also see the real desire in him, and with a wink, turns to look down at his new canvas. He sets to work, the buzzing of the needle filling the air. 

"I love it," Jon whispers to Gerry later, lying in the circle of his arms, Martin's warm weight at his back.   
"I love it too." Gerry kisses his forehead sweetly, almost asleep. "Martin, what do you think of your ear?"   
"I think boyfriends who commit to pain together stay together," Martin mutters drowsily, repeating his sentiment from earlier.   
"Ah, yes," Jon mutters, "The great cosmic bond of suffering."  
They laugh easily, the manic excitement of the day echoing within them, yet another thread in the colourful tapestry of their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> All the kudos, comments and love are super appreciated!


	9. Indigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have arrived at the angsty portion of this tale. Please take note of the less fun tags for this one. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!  
> Thanks, as always, to my beta GhostChoir! She keeps my Jon sane and my Gerry slightly wild. Dude, it wouldn't be nearly as fun without you.
> 
> CW's:  
> Arguing.   
> Past character death.   
> Mary Keay's A+ parenting (including but not limited to: child abuse and neglect, narcissistic tendencies and the threat of violence)  
> The suggestion of homophobia.   
> References to blood and maiming (Eric's blinding and subsequent murder)   
> Both Jon and Gerry having varying degrees of breakdowns.   
> Also tears.

On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.  
Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace.   
He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?"   
Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't.   
"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries.   
"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."  
Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it.   
"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.  
"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in.   
"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words.   
"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!"   
"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet."   
"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself.   
"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them.   
Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation.   
"We were together Jon. I loved you."   
"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back.   
"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him.   
"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them.   
Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness.   
Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day."   
"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."  
"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood. 

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk.   
"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."  
So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party.   
As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact.   
With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure.   
"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye.   
"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her.   
“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.  
"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."  
Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them.   
"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."  
The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard.   
"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again."   
Dead, cold silence fills the room.   
Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile."   
He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."  
Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives.   
Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos and commenting!


	10. Indigo Redux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my incredible beta GhostChoir! You do the most for me. 
> 
> "Oh dear I don't wanna be a burden  
> But could you please be a little more concerned with  
> The overactive mind of a believer  
> The toxic thoughts of an overachiever  
> Oh dear if only you could feel it  
> The crippling fear of being deserted  
> You can't touch the heat of this fever  
> The toxic thoughts of an overachiever"  
> (Toxic Thoughts, Faith Marie)
> 
> Cw's:  
> More tears!  
> Insecurity, relationship and otherwise.  
> Non-sexual Safe wording (respected)  
> Mention of past sexual history, non-graphic  
> Mention of Martin's less than ideal up-bringing.  
> Self-destructive behavior (Gerry)

"When was the last time we saw Gerry?" Jon asks in a panic. Martin looks up from the other side of the dinner table. The pair of them are at their typical Thursday night date, in Jon’s favourite Italian restaurant.  
They had previously been studying their menus, but Martin had felt Jon’s tension from the moment they met outside the library. It wasn't exactly surprising, considering the recent developments in their relationship, but he was still acutely aware of it.  
“You saw him yesterday morning before work, and I saw him today when he came into the bookstore to drink tea and read an entire book without buying it.” Martin reminds him. He’s already told Jon about seeing Gerry today, and he was there when they had all said goodbye the previous morning.  
Martin is fairly sure that Jon’s issue is more with the fact that Gerry was pale and tear-soaked as Martin had kissed him goodbye, and that Gerry had clung to Jon like an oversized barnacle as they rocked together for a final moment before they both left him alone to his thoughts. Martin knew he had slept and painted, or at least, that was what Gerry had told him in the quiet moments Martin had taken to spend with him in between the aisles of books that morning.  
“You should go over and see him if you’re concerned. We could go to the bar after we eat, and then you can go stay the night with him.” Martin tells him gently, nudging his foot under the table.  
"Maybe it would be better for Gerry if you go alone," Jon replies quietly, staring at his menu and refusing to make any kind of eye contact.  
Martin closes and sets aside his own menu, leaning forward on the table to focus his full attention on the idiot love of his life.  
"Why? Because he and I sleep together and you think that makes our intimacy more important? Or because you perceive it's your fault that his heart is broken and because of that you think you don't deserve to feel any comfort you might get from seeing him?" Jon goes shock still at Martin's words, eyes simply downcast now, instead of pretending to read the menu they both have memorized. "Or was it both at the same time?"  
"Yellow," Jon says unhappily.  
Only Jonothan Sims could safeword out of a conversation. Martin thinks tartly. I bet he learnt that from Gerry.  
Martin sighs and leans back, out of Jon's atmosphere. "I won't push a conversation you don't want to have, love, but you have to know that neither of those things is true."  
"No?" Jon snaps, finally jerking his head up to look at Martin. "Not even you can deny that I demanded that confession. I don't know what I expected him to say-" Jon cuts off, words choked off. "But not… Not that. Not those awful, horrifying things. All that trauma dragged out and put on display like some kind of, of-" Jon stutters to a halt, pressing his eyes tightly closed as if to escape the thought that anyone had ever laid hands on their bright, beautiful boy.  
"Like some kind of bloody museum exhibit? You couldn't have guessed. And you have a right to closure as much as anyone." Martin says emphatically. He reaches out to clasp their hands together, and Jon thankfully allows the contact. "No one could ever look at Gerry and guess that those skeletons live in his closet. That he hides those scars behind his sweet smiles and paint-stained hands."  
"I was there, Martin. I was with him the night before he ran away. He already knew, had already decided to go, and I didn't notice." Jon bites out the final words, bringing his hand down on the table in frustration. It's the ultimate recrimination in his own mind.  
"You can't know what you've never been told Jon, you aren't omniscient. You can't know what Gerry and I are thinking and feeling unless we tell you. Just like Gerry and I can't know what you're feeling when you avoid telling us things." Martin sighs, the exhaustion of several days of tears and worry dragging down on him. "We can pick up on it sometimes though, and we aren't scared teenagers anymore. Gerry will know you're avoiding him if you send me to check on him tonight and it will hurt him. If you're committed to him, and I know you are, then you owe him your bravery now. We all have to overcome our insecurities if we want to make this work."  
Jon and Martin sit looking at each other for a few heavy seconds.  
"I don't feel brave," Jon whispers across the space between them.  
"I know, my love. Neither do I. But we are." Martin lifts Jon's hand to press a kiss to Jon's palm, just as Gerry had on their initial date in the bar. "We can be brave together, the three of us."

Gerry is not at work. They share a look of sinking fear when they don't find him working his shift at the bar.  
He is at home when they let themselves into his loft, much to their relief. His posture and the general disarray fills Jon, especially, with fresh anxiety.  
He leans against his art table, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the most jarring painting Jon and Martin have ever seen him create. If the angry swirls of color and violent-looking paint slashes even constitute a painting.  
Gerry is wearing the same going-out clothes he had been wearing when Martin had seen him earlier, rather than his typical comfortable home clothes. He is covered in paint, and his makeup is smeared across his eyes from repeated rubbing.  
Martin nudges Jon in Gerry's direction and moves off towards the kitchen.  
"I do not want tea, Martin." Gerry's quiet voice manages to fill the space, hollow and empty, much like his facial expression.  
"Good," He responds, hardly missing a beat. "I was going to look for the whiskey."  
"Stop looking like a kicked puppy Jon, you didn't do anything wrong," Gerry says to him, offering his cigarette. Jon eyes the doorway that Martin just disappeared through, but ultimately goes over and takes it. They lean together, shoulder to shoulder, smoking and each trying to draw warmth from the other.  
"Do you know what I thought about for years after you left?" Jon eventually whispers softly.  
"What?"  
"That last night we were together. Do you remember?"  
Gerry laughs breathlessly at the question, pressing his eyes shut and curling slightly in on himself. "Yes Jon, I remember. How could I ever forget."  
"That was the last time I had sex." Gerry finally looks over at him, no shock, no visible reaction at all really, but his attention focuses on him. Jon focuses his own attention on the painting, which is easier to look at than Gerry's face right now, despite its discordant energy. "I could never let go of that feeling I had after; like we were one soul separated by our ridiculous bodies. Like our intimacy, however desperate and hormonal, brought us closer together than anything else we could ever do together in this life."  
Jon releases the confession into the room around them, finally releasing himself from the weight of it.  
"And then I was gone," Gerry whispers back, voice small.  
"And then you were gone. I was never very interested in sex as it was, and then even when I was in relationships after that, I never wanted to risk lying in someone's arms and finding a hole where that feeling should have been. Or maybe even worse, finding it there again, as if what we had wasn't as special as I had thought, and that was why you had just been able to walk away so easily."  
"It wasn't. It was the worst thing I ever did."  
"I know that now," Jon says, taking a long, grounding drag of his cigarette, "But that was the fear that sat in my chest and kept that wound bleeding, right up until the day that I watched you walk out of my library stacks, like some kind of literary saviour, reborn from my desire and ink and old parchment paper."  
Gerry pushes off from the table they are perching on. "I understand if you don't want this anymore. I wouldn't want to be with me, either, if I were you."  
"Gerry-" Jon tries to cut him off, but he plows on ahead, apparently deciding to just get the words out from where they've been suffocating him.  
"You can keep Martin, obviously, you knew him first. You two were happy together before I plowed into your lives like a fucking freight train."  
Martin himself, listening in the other room, doesn't particularly appreciate Gerry attempting to hand him off like a negotiating chip, but keeps his opinions to himself for the time being, in the hopes that Jon will handle the situation.  
Jon watches Gerry for a moment as he starts moving things around, shoulders tense and movements aggressive. He rolls his next words very carefully around his mouth before he allows himself to speak.  
"You did plow into our lives like a freight train." Gerry releases a sound of distress at the repeated words, and Jon slowly walks up to him and takes his shaking hands, turning Gerry towards him and hoping to finally encourage eye contact between them. "But we don't think that's a bad thing. We love you, Gerry Delano. I love you. I loved you when you were Gerard Keay, and I love you now and I loved you in a tiny box in my heart for all the years we were apart. I would be an idiot if I let this hurt between us keep us apart for any longer than it already has, and the last thing I could ever want is to watch you walk out of my life again."  
Tears slip down Gerry's messy cheeks and Jon reaches up to brush them gently away.  
"Please," Jon begs him, voice hoarse. "Please stay with me, please keep us here in your loft and teach me to paint my nails and be brave. Let Martin braid your hair and keep going into his store to read his books without buying them."  
For a moment they simply stand, tears pouring from Gerry's tightly shut eyes while Jon clings to him and tries desperately to occupy the same space in the universe as Gerry does.  
Gerry's eyes open slowly, teal irises only enhanced by the brightness of his tears.  
"Yes," he tells Jon.  
"Yes? You'll stay with us?"  
"Yes. Always." Gerry pulls Jon further into his embrace and they cling together, crying quietly.  
"Thank God," Martin mutters in the next room, running his hands up his face and through his hair in relief. Shaking it out and releasing the tension that had wound itself up in his gut, he gets up and starts moving about with purpose.  
"Is Martin cooking?" Gerry asks incredulously as the scent of frying bacon reaches them through their tearful haze.  
"Oh," Jon says, glancing up at the kitchen doorway. "I guess so. We never ate any dinner."  
"Why not?" Gerry asks, sniffling.  
Jon sighs, full of gratitude and long-suffering. "Because Martin wouldn't stop emotionally stripping me naked in public."  
Gerry laughs wetly, imagination running wild.  
"Also," he says, full of exhausted affection. "Because we love you."  
"Oh." Gerry curls around Jon even more. "I'm glad."

Martin feeds them, and sends Gerry to shower, and puts on a movie for Jon to start. He doesn't touch any of the art things, but he tidies a little as he hovers around, waiting for him to emerge from the bathroom.  
When he does, Gerry looks much, much better. The smudged makeup and paint are washed away, and his hair is wet. It all combines to make Gerry look very young, and Martin is reminded that he is actually the youngest of them, despite always seeming so settled into his life.  
Martin takes his hand and tugs him towards the lounge section of the big main space.  
"Martin, I-" Gerry starts.  
"Not now, love. You and I will sort things out later when you've slept and had time to process everything else." Martin's tone doesn't invite any argument, and Gerry's teeth snap together as he closes his mouth.  
The movie plays, but Gerry sleeps through it and so does Jon, mostly.  
As the credits roll, Martin giggles to find himself somewhat drowning in sleeping men, despite the quiet heaviness still hanging in the air. Jon wakes at the motion, since Martin is almost directly beneath him, and yawns and stretches.  
"How are we going to get our lumberjack to bed?" Jon asks, eyeing Gerry's long form with some trepidation.  
"I could carry him, probably," Martin says, with no real confidence.  
"Please don't," Gerry mutters into the side of Martin's neck, where his face is buried.  
"Ah, problem solved," Jon says, leaning over Martin to kiss Gerry.  
Martin hopes they wake each enough to walk to bed, lacking the desire to carry anyone anywhere at this time of night. Especially up the stairs to Gerry's loft, where the bed lives.  
They make it up to the bedroom eventually, and collapse together, sleeping soundly through the night. 

Gerry doesn't always like lying in the middle when all three of them are in bed together, being the warmest and the longest of the three of them, but the next morning that's where he finds himself.  
The window lets in the cool, gentle light of pre-dawn, and Gerry shifts around, trying to orientate himself.  
Jon is lying right on his edge, on his stomach, absolutely dead to the world, a halo of wavy black and silver hair surrounding him chaotically.  
Martin is lying on his back, one arm threaded through Gerry's, the other thrown over his head. He breathes deeply, but shifts periodically, as if unsettled. Gerry turns towards Martin, bare chest pressing against his shoulder and feels dread settle into his stomach as he watches his partner sleep fitfully.  
Gerry knows he won't be going back to sleep, but doesn't even consider getting up and moving away from the men in his bed.  
Martin stirs at his movement, moving his arm to curl around his waist and draw him in close. Gerry buries his face in Martin's shoulder, arm thrown across his waist.  
"What’s the time, Ger?" He mutters.  
"Early still. Almost six." He whispers in return, peering over Martin to check the bedside clock.  
He groans. "You alright?"  
Gerry hums back, pressing a kiss to Martin's chest since it's so conveniently close by.  
They lie together for a while, cuddled up close, sharing body heat and gentle comfort, until eventually, Martin surfaces properly, mostly to use the bathroom.  
He comes back with a glass of water, which Gerry shares with him before they settle back as they were before.  
Martin runs his fingers through Gerry's hair and Gerry traces patterns along Martin's chest through his shirt.  
"I'm sorry," Gerry whispers into the cool semi-darkness.  
"For having a breakdown?" Martin's tone is carefully even, although he continues to hold Gerry close.  
"No, not that."  
"You mean the part where you assured Jon he could keep me as if I were an unwanted child in a divorce. A feeling I'm plenty familiar with, actually." The carefully natural tone continues, and Gerry presses his fingers into Martin's side, hurt sliding through him at his own stupidity. His heart breaks to imagine how the careless words had made Martin feel.  
"That's not what I meant." His voice is small and he hates the useless words, but he can't push any others out.  
"Don't worry about it. I'll admit, I do normally prefer to be involved in the plans for my own future, but I'll let it slide this time." Martin smiles just a little, an edge of bitterness creeping in. “On the grounds of emotional distress.”  
"Martin…" Gerry presses the word into his skin, curling even closer.  
"I'll ask you this though. Did you really think I would just walk away with Jon after what's been between us?" Martin's voice finally, finally breaks just a little. Through the entire Mary confession, Jon's emotional struggle, their confrontations, and the oceans of tears, Martin had been completely steady, calm, logical, never falling into the erratic emotions of his partners, but this is what finally gets to him.  
"I-I don't know what I thought. I guess I just couldn't fathom at that moment that you and Jon could ever want me again." Gerry slides his hand up, curling it around Martin's face and drawing it down to face him. "I'm broken, Martin, and I don't want my brokenness to break you."  
Martin signs softly, turning over towards him, so they press together. Their foreheads touch and he kisses him gently, just once.  
“You are not broken. What happened to you is fucked up, and anyone can understand you being messy and volatile sometimes, especially with how balanced you normally are. Maybe next time, ask us how we feel. Instead of, you know, staying up for two days, trashing your flat, and coming to my job to say goodbye to me without actually telling me anything.”  
“Noticed that, did you?” Gerry asks, flushing.  
“Yes, love. The complete lack of flirting, winking, and ass grabbing rather gave it away. You also paid for your drink. Very out of character.”  
Gerry laughs and presses closer into him. “I have to keep you in business. Got to pay for something.”  
Martin squeezes him reassuringly, rubbing their noses together.  
They are quiet for a moment, and Martin frowns in consideration, before going on. “You and Jon aren't the only catalysts here. I would have fought for you if Jon wanted to pack it in and walk away. I chose you just as much as I chose Jon. Just as much as you chose me. Please remember that the next time you're tempted to treat me like a pawn in this arrangement, because I am not.”  
“I know. I’m sorry.” Gerry tells him, sincerity heavy in his voice.  
“Then we'll say no more about it.”


	11. Indigo Postscript

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the gratitude to GhostChoir, for beta-ing, and to you! For reading :)  
> Our angst continues for one more chapter, before we move on to happier times.   
> CW's:  
> Unfortunate communication breakdown.   
> Off-screen minor character death. (Mental illness, suicide, blood and bleeding)  
> Main character injury and the resulting vague medical treatment.   
> Arguing.   
> Jon typical self-deprecation and lack of self-preservation skills.

(Jon breaks his ribs)   
Jon has a terrible, sinking feeling about what he considers their new Mary Keay problem.  
He knows Gerry feels more confident that he can deal with her now, as an adult with his own resources and a solid foundation, but Jon doesn't want her ever walking into their lives again.  
He feels the threat of her existence hanging over their hard-won peace like an anvil on a lace string.   
"I think we should try to find her," Jon tells Martin one evening when they’re alone in bed. Gerry is downstairs painting, and even though he almost certainly can't hear them, Jon whispers it like a dirty secret.   
"You think-" Martin looks up from his book with an almost comically incredulous look on his face. "You think we should look for a murder who threatened your life?"   
Utterly uninterested in secrets between the three of them, Martin does not attempt to speak quietly.   
"Well, when you put it like that," Jon grumbles, returning his attention to his book and pretending to drop it.   
The next day at work, he puts his researching skills to the test. It doesn't even take very long, and in less than an hour, he has an address in Morden, where she apparently owns a bookstore of all things.  
The information available is fairly spartan, updated more than a year ago, but Jon can see enough. He can see that she lives less than an hour from Gerry, and it itches at him.   
He knows he shouldn't go. Knows that Martin and Gerry will be furious if they ever find out that he snooped, nevermind if he goes there and unsettles old ghosts..   
But still, he takes a half-day off from work and gets on a bus to Morden. 

When Jon arrives and finds the storefront boarded up, he is half reassured, half perturbed. He had felt almost relieved when he had a concrete lead to follow, but now all he has is more questions.   
"She's dead."   
Jon startles at being unexpectedly spoken to and turns towards a teen girl sitting in the storefront doorway next door.   
"She died, like a while ago? Apparently she lost her shit and cut herself up with a piece of glass. Bleed to death on the floor." She inclines her head towards the dilapidated bookstore. She seems quite taken with the gossip, as if it's the most interesting thing to ever intercept with her boring life. It probably is, Jon thinks, uncharitably.   
"When did it happen?" He prods, hoping for as many details as possible.   
"Oh, like two years ago?" She nods at herself in confirmation. "You can go in if you want. It's haunted. People are always going in to see if they can find Mary's ghost."   
Jon shudders, feeling that Mary's ghost is already plenty present enough in his life. He asks how to get in anyway.   
Jon doesn't find any obvious ghosts inside, only a lot of dust, a few vandalised books, and a trashed building.   
There's a staircase leading upwards and he stares up at the upper landing for a moment, weighing his options. Might as well, he thinks, and proceeds up it carefully.   
There's literally nothing but more dust, and Jon descends into a sneezing fit just as he is deciding to cut his losses, feeling slightly dizzy.   
The sneezing turns into coughing, and Jon takes a step back to lean against a wall.   
But the wall isn't there, and he falls.   
And falls.   
And falls. 

Jon calls Martin from the hospital. He’s down in Brighton, meeting with a business supplier, and Jon assumes this makes it a safe bet he'll arrive without Gerry. He assumes wrong.   
Gerry arrives, alone, in half the time it would take Martin to make the trip, looking flustered and scared.   
"How did you get here so fast?" Jon demands incredulously, made short by his shame and physical discomfort.   
"How did I-" Gerry pauses and takes a deep breath, but his next words are still slightly shrill. "I took a fucking Uber, Jonathan. How did you get here?"  
Jon opens his mouth, but Gerry cuts him off as he goes on.   
"You went looking for Mary, didn't you?" Jon's guilty face must tip him off, because he simply goes on, pacing angrily. "Christ, Jon! What the hell were you expecting to find? And you know what, Martin didn't even sound surprised when he called me to tell me you were here. You know, I can understand this uncommunicative bullshit from you, but not Martin."  
"That's not very nice," Jon grouses.   
"And do you think it was nice for me to hear from Martin that you were hurt? I'm glad to know he was your one and only phone call from an ambulance."   
"Gerry-"   
"Don't fucking Gerry me."  
"I'm sorry," Jon says, looking down at his hands.   
"Are you, Jon? Because you don't even know the worst part yet. If you had asked me, I could have told you Mary was dead, and then we wouldn't be in this mess at all."  
"You knew?"   
"Of course I knew! I was her next of kin!"   
Gerry stops, pressing his fingers into his eyes and blowing a hard breath out. He takes several more breaths, heart-pounding, anxiety through the roof.   
"Jon, how hurt are you?" Gerry asks quietly, coming closer to gently take a hand.   
"Just a few bruises." Gerry raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "A mild concussion." And the other. "Maybe a few broken ribs."  
"Oh, my sweet, sweet idiot. How loving you makes me want to climb the walls sometimes."  
"Only sometimes?" Jon fills his voice with false levity, although it comes out rather shaky.   
Gerry grunts, but leans down to kiss his forehead very gently. It's a minuscule point of contact, but Jon knows Gerry and can feel the tremble of fear (fear for him, who would have thought), and the tension of his frustration.   
"I'm going to go talk to the doctor, okay? Just- just take it easy. Everything will be fine, love."   
Jon doesn't believe him, not really, but he lets Gerry go. There's a lot of noise and movement after that, and Jon's head spins through most of it. Gerry is there, talking to doctors, querying the tests they want to run, and just generally making his opinion in regards to his partner's care very clear. 

Martin knows it's bad when he arrives at the hospital and finds Gerry chain-smoking in the parking lot. His expression mostly just looks exhausted, but in his favorite black trench coat, and most intimidating combat boots, he looks ready to burn something down.   
"That bad, huh?" Martin tries, but Gerry simply waves him towards the entrance, not making eye contact.   
Martin almost cuts his losses, wanting to deal with one idiot at a time, but doesn't want to leave Gerry to sulk.   
"How is he?" Martin asks.   
"He's in one piece. They asked me to leave so they could do the x-rays. Apparently, he fell over a banister."   
"A banister? How?"   
"Your guess is as good as mine until we can interrogate him." Gerry takes a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette. "But apparently it's not all that bad and as long as the x-rays look clear, we can take him home in a couple of hours."  
"He couldn't have chosen a worse time."  
Gerry grunts in agreement. "He's going to tell us he wants to go back to his own flat, but that's only because he thinks I'm angry at him."  
"And why would he think that?" Martin questions.   
Gerry takes another long drag of his cigarette as if testing Martin's attention span, or patience, or both. Martin just waits, still and easy.   
Gerry explains what he knows, his earlier outburst, Jon's guilty, stupid face.   
When the cigarette is smoked and put out, Martin finally approaches Gerry all the way, and Gerry sinks into his arms gratefully.   
"Everything will be fine."  
"Hardly. This is my fault to begin with, and I yelled at him. In a hospital bed!"   
"It's as good a place as any other, love. Come on, let's go get him so we can take him home."   
Martin kisses him gently, before taking his hand and dragging him off to find Jon. 

"Your partner is very loud." The blonde nurse with the buzzcut tells Jon as she wheels him to imaging.   
"In his defense, I'm an idiot." He sighs, causing his battered ribs to ache.   
She laughs heartily, wheeling him into an elevator. "Almost everyone I meet as an A&E nurse is. At least you seem like an interesting idiot."  
Jon actually smiles, somehow pleased with the observation. "I'm Jon."  
"Daisy Tonner." She offers a hand, which Jon shakes as firmly as he can manage. "You seem a bit old for trespassing in haunted houses, Jon."  
The elevator dings and she wheels him out into the imaging wing. "I was looking for the woman who died there." Daisy gives him a skeptical look and he sighs dramatically. "I didn't know she was dead."  
Daisy nods her understanding. "I remember when she died actually. They brought her here that night. Never seen someone with so much blood loss be so… Erratic. We had to strap her down." Daisy looks contemplative as she recalls the memory.   
"She was a crazy bitch to the very end, then?" Jon asks, bitterness creeping through his tone at the woman who caused Gerry (still causes Gerry,) so much pain. Jon doesn't allow himself, yet, to dwell on the heartache of the years of Gerry she took from him.   
"For sure," Daisy tells him. "What do you do for a living then?"   
"I'm a librarian?" Jon tells her, but it goes up a bit at the end, like a question.   
"Really?" Daisy asks wryly, "You don't sound very sure."  
Jon considers laughing but remembers his ribs in time to settle on a tired smile. "I do work in a library but to be frank, most of the time I just feel like my boss's busy boy. Always running here and there and doing everything but what I thought I was supposed to be doing."  
"Most professions aren't what we think they are when we sign up for them," Daisy observes. She parks his wheelchair outside a door and leans around to let them know a patient is waiting.   
"Do you like being a nurse?" Jon asks her when she settles against the wall beside him, looking rather more intimidating than one would expect from the average health care worker.   
"Most of the time. Sometimes it can be just exhausting and draining." She shrugs, contemplative. "Sometimes I get a patient that makes all the shit worthwhile. Mostly I just want to deck someone, though."  
She cracks up at that and looks down at Jon to give him a feral grin. "Your boyfriend seems like a worthwhile candidate. Very punchable face."  
"Careful, he might enjoy it," Jon warns her, deadpan.   
They exchange a pointed look for a moment, before bursting into laughter. It pains Jon significantly, but he considers it worthwhile to enjoy the moment with a strange new friend. 

By the time Daisy returns Jon to his room, both Martin and Gerry are there. Daisy looks pointedly between blue-haired, pierced, goth Gerry, and pink-haired, jumper clad, soft Martin and then eyes up 'born an 85-year old man' Jon for good measure.   
Jon just shrugs at her and she nods in acknowledgment, before helping Jon into his hospital bed.   
"As soon as the imaging comes through, it'll be checked by the surgeon on duty," Daisy informs them briskly, "then they'll come through and let you know what's happening. You'd best settle in for a bit of a wait. Buzz if you need me."  
With a curt nod and a small smile for Jon, Daisy is off.   
Martin comes over and pulls Jon into his comfortable arms, pressing his lips to Jon's forehead. He sighs out in relief to have solid reassurance that Jon is alright, alive, and relatively unscathed.   
Gerry also moves over from his perch on the windowsill, and folds himself onto the bed, cross-legged in front of his errant partner.   
They settle all together, Martin beside Jon, one unwavering arm around his shoulders, Gerry in front of Jon, both of his hands holding both of Jon's.   
Jon opens his mouth to apologize.   
"I'll go first," Gerry tells him, gently. "I am sorry that I was so upset earlier and that I raised my voice. I was fucking scared and I took it out on you when you needed me to be soft and steady. I'm also sorry that I didn't tell you Mary was dead before."  
Jon tries to interrupt now, but Martin silences him with a squeeze.   
"I meant to tell you, but it was all very messed up and over-wrought and I honestly forgot." Gerry looks chastised, a rare blush staining his cheeks. "I hope that we can get better at talking these things out so that this doesn't happen again."  
He pauses, considering. "And I hope that if I have made you think that you can't talk to me by avoiding telling you things in the past, that you can forgive me and I will do what I need to be better."   
Jon is truly floored, and utterly speechless. The words themselves had been a little bit halting and slightly awkward, as Gerry struggled to express himself, but the earnestness proves to Jon just how much Gerry loves him.  
"I- I'm sorry too." Jon stutters out. "I'm an idiot but I love you. I hope we can get better at this together."   
His words feel downright juvenile after Gerry's acknowledgement, but it's all he's got, pounding head and trapped emotions preventing similar declarations (oh and his total lack of social skills). Gerry beams at him regardless and he leans forwards to kiss Jon sweetly on the forehead.   
Martin grabs Gerry's hand and places a kiss on his palm, sending him a significant look. It feels like approval to Jon, and he can't help but appreciate their bond just as much as his own with each of them.   
They settle to wait, and they take turns reading from Martin's book to pass the time, each of their voices having a few moments to fill the air and weave around them.   
Dr. Basira Hussain eventually comes in, assuring them that Jon's concussion is mild, his ribs are only bruised, and that he should make a full recovery (if he rests), in just a few weeks. They thank her profusely and she leaves them with Daisy to check out.   
Gerry goes off to take care of the paperwork and in a few minutes, they're saying goodbye and walking out of the hospital together. Martin and Gerry flank Jon carefully, there to support him if he stumbles.   
He also sits between them in the taxi, head on Martin's shoulder and one hand grasped between both of Gerry's. He feels exhausted and floaty from painkillers, and every jolt of the car makes it difficult to breathe.   
He smiles, rather unexpectedly. Despite his current predicament, he's glad enough to know that Mary Keay is dead and that chapter of their lives is definitely closed. He does wish he had just asked Gerry, but he hopes that the strained feelings and injuries will blow over and she will finally be out of their lives for good, nothing but a sad, angry memory. A shade living only in the memories of those that didn't know her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really said to myself, 'Remember that Jon's kinda dumb.' and then I wrote this!   
> Thanks for reading, and for all the kudos and comments.


	12. Navy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're having a party!  
> Special shout-out to my beta, GhostChoir, without whom this tale certainly wouldn't exist. 
> 
> CW's:  
> Party!  
> Drunk!  
> Some drunk kissing, perfectly within the bounds of all relationship boundaries.

Things settle back around them after Gerry's wild revelations and Jon's accident. Jon heals (mostly because they force him to rest) and in that time the pair of them heal into a far more solid relationship.  
Gerry decides to keep his blue hair, for the time being, letting it fade through all the different shades of navy and Indigo and sky and then dying it dark and moody again. Martin, to Gerry's eternal delight, keeps his pink hair, as committed to the upkeep as he is with anything he cares about.  
As January moves towards February, Tim, Jon, and Gerry plan a surprise birthday party for Martin at the bar. It's on a Monday, so Gerry's boss lets him book the place out, and Jon drags him over there on the grounds that Gerry has to work an extra shift and he wants to see them anyway.  
As people yell and party poppers explode, Martin turns exactly the same shade of pleased pink as his hair. Jon and Gerry each kiss him, and he quietly confesses that this is the first birthday party that he has ever had in his life.  
Gerry and Tim, filled to the brim with extra, hired a phone-box-shaped photo booth (blue, obviously) and put Polaroid cameras on all the tables for the guests to get photos with. Many of their friends insist on taking two or three snaps with Martin and then leaving him birthday messages on the back, all filled with poetry and book quotes and confession of their love for him.  
Gerry's Polaroid card has a drawing of Gerry and Martin standing together, Gerry pointing at Martin, and a speech bubble with the words 'that's mine, though'. Always equal opportunity, he does a similar one for Jon and slips it into his back pocket. Jon blushes when he sees it, but allows himself one pleased soft smile, as he watches Gerry and Martin move together rather chaotically on the dance floor.  
Georgie and Melanie are dancing nearby and, during the next song Melanie and Gerry swing away together. Georgie and Martin come together with a shocked laugh and an affectionate glare at their errant partners.  
Basira is coaxed onto the dance floor by Sasha. Daisy, finding herself partnerless, guilt trips Jon into dancing with her.  
Tim insists on the karaoke, probably to torment Jon, and sings several songs, very badly, often charming others up onto the stage with him. Including, memorably, Gerry and Sasha, neither of whom can sing any better than he can.  
They do look very striking all together though, up on the stage with the lights twisting around them fetchingly. Tim and Gerry are both wearing slightly more dressed-up versions of their typical ensembles, and Sasha looks dashing in her best pantsuit and waistcoat in between them. At the end of the song, she pecks each boy once on the lips and then disappears into the crowd before they can force her to sing again. Gerry and Tim also kiss each other, for good measure, before jumping down and surrendering the microphone to someone else.  
Daisy and Basira sing a frantic pop song together, fairly well, although it's quite a shock to see their normally serious doctor friends drunk and singing karaoke.  
Jon is convinced to sing one song, only because he loves Martin, and there's a lot of heckling afterward at the fact that he was just so damn good at it, and why does he always insist on hiding his best talents away? Somewhere nearby, Gerry comments that Jon's best talent is getting unreasonably hot boys to fall in love with him, which makes Martin blush yet again.  
Martin doesn't give Jon a hard time, but rather wraps his arms around Jon and kisses him, very intensely, in front of everyone they know, who cheer uproariously, thoroughly drunk.  
"Thank you." He whispers to Jon conspiratorially, as they stand close together in the crowd.  
"For the song?" He asks back, swaying them gently, completely out of time with the music.  
"For existing. For loving me."  
"Anyone could love you, Martin. I'm just lucky that you love me back."

After the party wraps up, Tim stumbles out with Sasha, yelling behind him that he better not see Martin at work tomorrow.  
Martin perches on a bar stool, looking very fetching in the warm bar lights, watching his lovers try to clean up while soundly drunk. Gerry trips into Jon and they descend into giggles.  
Only a little tipsy and knowing very well that he'll have to help if he ever wants to get home, Martin picks up the already full trash bags and takes them out the back, hoping the fresh air will also sober him up the rest of the way.  
After an evening of pounding music and shouting laughter, Martin feels the silence of the back alley almost deafeningly.  
That's the only way, he thinks later, that he could possibly have heard the tiny mewl that catches his attention. Tracking it behind the dumpster, he pulls it away from the wall to find a teeny tiny little gray fluff ball.  
"Hey, little guy." Martin coos and the kitten lurches towards him, obviously hungry and tired. Martin scoops it up and clutches it to his chest, where it shivers. He thinks that maybe this is what people talk about when they say 'love at first sight'.  
He looks up at the full moon fondly, a rare sight in London in winter, and whispers to the little feline, "I think I shall call you Luna."  
Martin carries her inside, hoping his partners will be as enamored as he is.

The next day, the moment his boyfriends sober up and can hold a conversation, Martin begs them to keep her.  
"I don't know," Jon grumbles, eyeing it critically. "Kittens that age are a lot of work, it looks like she needs to be bottle-fed still."  
When Martin's face falls, Gerry bashes him in the shoulder and looks at him like he's an idiot. Which he is, even Jon can agree.  
"I think three adult men can raise one kitten," Gerry says cheerfully, despite his hangover. "We can take turns. I'll do the night shift." He offers easily, and Martin melts at the willingness to participate.  
"Well then," Jon grouses, before relenting and bestowing a small scratch to Luna's chin. "I suppose she might enjoy visiting the library occasionally."  
Martin beams at them, more pleased than ever to have two partners in crime.  
As Jon predicted, it's certainly an adjustment, and raising a kitten is worlds away from having Saturn- a shockingly independent creature on his clingiest day.  
Nevertheless, Luna manages to grow up just fine, sometimes in the bar, the bookstore, or even the library. She even spends time at the studio, where Saturn pretends to tolerate her, but actually melts into a big pile of mothering instinct and Gerry often finds them curled up together, sound asleep.  
The three of them adapt to fatherhood (as Gerry insists on calling it) a bit tumultuously, but they settle in eventually, and Martin considers that his kitten, and his boyfriends, are easily the best things in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~
> 
> What we mean by slightly dressed up versions of Gerry and Tim's outfits, courtesy of GhostChoir:  
> Tim *has changed out of his sandals and into closed toed shoes.*  
> Gerry *is just wearing a shit that says "I'm fancy don't question me."*


End file.
